Page 20 of Omega's Heart
I n June, almost six months after the explosion, Kaden was sitting on a plane in Memphis, waiting for the rest of the passengers to get off so they could maneuver him and his brand-new wheelchair out and into the terminal. Maybe he should have put the leg on, but despite what everyone at the rehab center told him, he still felt unstable on it, like he could take a step at any moment that would have him face-planting in front of the crowds. Though that might have been the knee too. He had the wheelchair because he still had a lot of healing to do there, more so than in the stump of his leg or in his hand. More pain than he liked to admit to, as well, which didn’t bode well for the future.
He was using the chair today because he’d had absolutely enough of being helpless and the chair gave him some security.
Kaden tapped his fingers in a rolling rhythm against the arms of the seat, feeling the pressure against the fingertips as he went: right pinky, ring finger, middle finger, index, thumb. Left thumb, index... weird there/not-there of the three that were missing. The middle finger still ached fiercely when he tried to move its non-existent flesh. His other phantom fingers were just unnerving—a feeling like grass against them, or wind, or cold. Sometimes it felt like the toes of a paw.
The last of the humans got off the plane. Several of them had stopped and said the usual, “Thank you for your service.” A few had noticed the tabs and hurried off in a panic. A few more had noticed them and grown wary, but he’d expected that. All in all, it seemed less...extreme...than the Army had been. Although he had some good friends still enlisted, humans who only cared about results and didn’t give a damn if the person providing them sometimes had four legs instead of two.
A flight attendant—a man—came down the aisle toward him, followed shortly by another. He wondered briefly and with little interest why they thought the man would be any safer from him than a woman would be, then decided he was being depressing and looking for problems where there weren’t any. Or maybe he was just tired.
“The exit is clear, sir. Do you need a hand getting up?”
Kaden shook his head. “If you could get my crutches down for me?” He raised his eyes to stare up at the bottom of the luggage compartment. His crutches came in two pieces each and were currently disassembled in the bottom of the compartment underneath his overnight bag.
The man reached above him and fished out the collection of aluminum piping. He stared at them for a moment, hesitated, then looked at Kaden. “Are you planning to use this out in the airport?”
“Just until I get to the corridor, then I’ll use the wheelchair.”
The man nodded. “Cathy, grab his bag, please?” He turned back to Kaden. “I can help you out to the wheelchair, or you can use the backs of the seats. I’ve seen other people do that. It would be faster.”
Faster would be good. He ignored the suspicion that the humans just wanted him out of there—he was sure that they had a schedule to keep and there was probably another plane right behind them waiting for them to get their asses out of the way. “Sure. That’s a smart idea.”
It worked out pretty well, but he was shocked at how tired he was by the time he was able to fall into the wheelchair and get himself settled with his bag on his lap and the crutch pieces hooked across the handles in the back. Still, he rolled himself down the corridor and out through the doors with as much speed as possible, the muscles of his arms aching with the exertion. Fuck, this place is bigger than I remember. Or maybe he was smaller.
He followed the signs hanging from the ceiling, rolling along until he hit the long corridor connecting Terminal C with Terminal B. For a moment, he sat at the end of the moving belt gliding away from him and contemplated just pushing himself down the regular corridor beside it, but he was tired. His arms were turning rubbery already. He took a deep breath, sent a prayer off to Lysoonka that he didn’t tip himself onto his ass and end up stuck like an upended turtle, and rolled himself onto the walkway.
It jerked him forward the instant his wheels hit and the front wheels of the chair rose up into the air high enough it was even odds which way the chair would go. Kaden flailed and panicked for a moment, then got his hands on the rails running beside it and hauled the front wheels down so hard they bounced up again before settling back down onto the black floor. In the background of the noise of his racing heart, he heard the crutches fall off with a metallic clatter. “Damn!” He could turn the chair easily enough, but reaching the crutches... nope.
A middle-aged man in a business suit bent down beside him. “Let me get that for you,” he said, scooping up the crutches. “Where do you want them?”
“Thank you,” Kaden said. “I had them hooked over the handles in the back.” He saw the moment the human noticed the tabs, saw as well the man’s gaze travel down Kaden’s body, taking in the scars that ran up the back of his neck and over the edge of his jaw, the missing fingers, the folded-up pant leg.
“Thank you for your service,” the human said after he got the crutches in place, and held out a hand to Kaden.
Startled, Kaden shook it, said a quiet “Thank you,” and looked up just in time to see the end of the moving walkway coming up. He grimaced and got his hands on the wheels, spinning in place— showing off a little, which was stupid—and getting ready to roll up onto the regular floor.
“Let me give you a hand,” the human said and then next thing Kaden knew, the man had popped his front wheels and pushed him up off the walkway.
“You know how to handle a chair,” Kaden commented.
“I’m a surgeon. I’ve dealt with a chair or two before.” The man waved and strode off, leaving Kaden to make his way along the corridors to the place he’d promised to meet his brother Quin.
He found the military lounge, showed his ID, and rolled on inside to make a quick call letting Quin know he’d landed. Then he bought an orange juice and waited. There were a couple of fellows at the other end of the lounge, but he ignored them and they ignored him, though he saw the quick flurry of conversation when he rolled through the door. At this point, he either made humans uncomfortable because he was a shifter or he made them uncomfortable because of his physical condition. He was learning to keep his distance again.
His phone’s screen lit up with a text from Quin. We’re here.
Great. He couldn’t wait to get home. Or to what was going to be home now. He’d probably have to apply for official transfer—Salma Wood wouldn’t want him on the books if he wasn’t living there and contributing.
It didn’t take him long to find Quin and his mate out in the corridor—his brother towered over everyone around him. And his mate—Fuck me, that video camera didn’t do him justice. Just looking at him, standing beside Quin with a pup in his arms, sent an entirely inappropriate reaction straight down Kaden’s body. That’s gonna be awkward.
“Kaden,” Quin said and bent to hug him. Kaden locked the wheels of his chair and let the hug happen, then accepted another from Quin’s mate, who smelled too good to be true. He has a brother, right? Where had all his memories gone? “Good to be home,” Kaden told them and sat back gratefully when Holland let go of him. “Let’s get out of here. The crowds are making me jumpy.”
Holland glanced discreetly at Quin, but Kaden still saw it. A look of concern and probably wondering just how bad he was messed up in the head. “Too many humans who don’t see me as one of their pack,” he qualified and Quin nodded.
“Let’s go. You have a bag?”
“Haven’t picked it up yet.” He suppressed a sigh. “Couldn’t figure out how to do it, to be honest.”
“I can do that,” Holland said. “If someone will hold the pup.”
