Rebound (Latent Series Book 0)

by Alana Timms

  “How many people in the co-op again?”

  “It changes because of births and deaths, new memberships. Ball park? I’d say around the two hundred and fifty mark. Biggest co-op in California. Only one in Los Angeles county that hasn’t had to sell off part of its territory to boost its finances.”

  Noah flashed a grin. “Look at you, all swelled up with pride.”

  Yes, he was. He didn’t massively enjoy Sunday Meet, but he was proud to belong to Logan’s Reach.

  They parked at the sports club with a minute to spare. Trent raced through reception to the members’ lounge, Noah behind him. Pop stood at the front of the packed room with his two sons flanking him. Trent sidled toward an empty space at the back. Noah made no attempt to sidle, immediately drawing Pop’s attention. Beetling his bushy white eyebrows, the old man watched Noah for a couple of beats.

  Then said in that booming voice of his, “Welcome, co-op. Happy Sunday.”

  “Happy Sunday!”

  “Alphas and betas, I hope you’re all signed up for games this afternoon,” said Pop. “Competition is the lifeblood of our community. Keeps us fit, alert, strengthens our bonds as a co-op.” He roved his gaze over the crowd. “Any visiting alphas or betas here today?” A few hands shot up, including Noah’s. “I expect you to sign up too. It’s your absolute duty.”

  “He sure is getting worked up about it,” Noah whispered. A few people in front of them turned their heads to glare.

  “Shush.” Trent nudged Noah in the ribs. “Ever heard of keeping a low profile?”

  As could be expected, none of this whispering escaped Pop. He pointed at Noah. “Young man…yeah, you in the back. Trent’s guest, correct?”

  “Yes, sir…Alpha.”

  “I’m signing you up for paintball. Your team against mine.”

  Noah frowned. “I’m not—”

  Trent nudged him again, sharper. “Say thank you,” he whispered.

  Still frowning, Noah rubbed his side. “Thank you, Alpha Logan. That’s awesome.”

  Noah needed to sound a bit more thrilled than that if he wanted to impress Pop. The frowning had to go too. Outsiders only got one chance to be considered for Approval. Frowning and a lack of enthusiasm weren’t going to endear him to Pop.

  The meeting broke up, latents filing out to go play tennis, racquetball, basketball, or whatever game they’d signed up for. Trent pulled Noah to one side.

  “You need to get peppy. Make like you’ve waited all your life for the chance to have Alpha Logan cover you in paint.”

  “Is it safe for him to play such a physical game? He’s pretty old.”

  Trent glanced around, relieved to find the room almost empty. “Watch your mouth, Dorothy. You’re not in West District anymore.” He led Trent out to the parking lot, where a convoy of Jeeps was waiting to ferry the paintballers and their supporters out to the paintball center.

  “You signed up for paintball, too?” asked Noah as Trent climbed in beside him.

  “Chess, but that was before you.” He placed his hand on Noah’s knee, not too suggestive, and said with the kind of enthusiasm he hoped Noah could emulate, “Now I get to cheer for my alpha!”

  Trent ought to be used to being on the sidelines, but it still irked him, watching the alphas and betas pick out camos at the paintball center reception. He and the other omegas took complimentary binoculars from a barrel and huddled together like sheep while waiting for the players to finish getting kitted.

  Noah came at him carrying a paintball gun and a green armband. “Got these for you. You’re on my team, naturally.”

  He fought the frown threatening to crease his face. Didn’t Noah get it yet?

  “I’m an omega,” he reminded Noah. “We don’t sign up for anything that involves running around being rough and aggressive. Even if I wanted to get shot at, we’re not allowed to handle weapons.”

  Noah laughed. “Oh, come on. It’s a paintball gun.”

  “It’s a gun. The law doesn’t want us getting ideas.”

  Noah’s smile faded, replaced by disbelief. “You’re not serious?” He glanced at the other omegas, with their binoculars and their huddling, and shook his head. “Damn.”

  “Welcome to East District,” said Trent, unable to smother the resentment that edged his tone.

  He gestured for the other omegas to follow him out to the spectator stand, his resentment dwindling when he thought about the privileges he had: financial independence, a business, things so many other omegas didn’t have even in a co-op as progressive as Logan’s Reach.

  ****

  Noah

  Noah watched Trent and the other omegas file out of the reception building. Never mind Dorothy, he was Alice falling down a rabbit hole to a parallel universe. He’d expected to encounter hierarchy and Status role stereotyping but wasn’t prepared for the deep divide, the chasm of demarcation between alphas and betas on one side, and omegas on the other. And nobody could tell him Trent didn’t want to participate in shooting at Alpha Logan. He’d seen the expression on his omega’s face, that mixture of longing and bitterness.

  “Dude, are you going to stand around all day?” one of his teammates called.

  He pulled on his camo and led his team out to the battlefield. Moments later, he dodged behind a burned out tank as Alpha Logan fired at him. Only the shock of silver hair above the full facemask gave the old man away. He didn’t move like a senior citizen. Quick, his aim near perfect, Alpha Logan hunted him across the battlefield with frightening intensity.

  Noah’s survival instinct kicked in, revving his adrenalin. He signaled for his team to retreat to a mock village built on higher ground with woods backing onto it. From there they would see the Red Team coming and would have plenty of cover from the wooden buildings.

  Noah peered around the side of an outhouse, all tensed up for the Red Team’s charge up the steep slope.

  The charge came from behind. Noah’s team scattered with hoarse swearing as red paint annihilated them. Noah dodged flying paint, saw one of the Reds standing over a fallen Green, and went to the aid of his soldier. He shot ball after ball into the Red. Until his brain finally seized on the fact that the Red had a shock of silver hair.

  He lowered his gun. Everyone around him had already done so.

  Alpha Logan ripped off his facemask. “You shot me, goddammit!”

  Noah’s mouth went dry. He’d just killed his Approval. “Sorry?”

  “Sorry, he says. Sorry.” Alpha Logan laughed, gravelly. “Nobody’s had the balls to shoot me in fifteen years. Don’t be sorry, son. Gimme a rematch. But let’s grab a beer first.”

  Alpha Logan clapped him on the shoulder, moving past. A surreal moment for Noah as all the other alphas, Reds and Greens alike, congratulated him with a clap on his shoulder. So this was what belonging felt like, this rush of skin-tingling contentment.

  The betas hung back, waiting until he’d joined the alphas trudging down the hill before falling in behind him.

  Shifters had hunted together prior to the Truce. They’d ran together through their territories. Noah could see the wisdom of substituting play for hunting and running as a way to promote pack bonding after shifting died out.

  They all headed to the semicircular spectator stand at one corner of the battlefield, in front of which the omegas had set up a table with coolers filled with ice and drinks. Trent, like all the other omegas, had a pair of binoculars hanging from around his neck. His rictus of a smile left Noah in no doubt he had witnessed the shooting of Alpha Logan.

  Trent came over, bringing him a beer. “What the fuck did you just do?” he asked, his tone as sweet as cotton candy.

  “I know, I know.” Noah popped the can open. “Pure instinct, I couldn’t help it. Now he wants a rematch.”

  Trent swayed in closer. “Better not shoot the boss again.”

  “He didn’t seem to mind too much.”

  “Course he did. He’s fiendishly competitive. You’re well and truly on his rada
r now. Which means we’re both on his radar.” Trent tilted his head back in clear invitation. “Make it look good.”

  Noah narrowed his eyes. Make it look good. Meaning he couldn’t make it actually good? He banded an arm around Trent’s waist, drew him right up close, and kissed him for real. Pretend real.

  ****

  Trent

  This was not working for him. He and Noah had zero sexual chemistry. It bugged the hell out of him. Was he broken now? Was this his life from now on, mashing lips with a hot guy and feeling nothing from the mouth down? He huffed as Noah pulled back and hoped it sounded like a blissed-out sigh.

  Should’ve guessed he couldn’t fool the eagle-eyed professor.

  “Making it look good? That’s a two-way street.” Noah strode off to join his alpha bros congregated around the coolers.

  Trent sent a frustrated sigh up to the sky. Alpha Logan was even harder to fool than Noah. It could turn out bad for them both if the old man worked out that they were deliberately trying to dupe him. Noah could forget about Approval. And Trent could face an arranged pairing with an assigned alpha to keep him in line. Or worse, eviction from the co-op altogether.

  He glanced at the alphas again. His heart gave a painful lurch to find Alpha Logan’s enigmatic stare on him. He ducked his head and kept his gaze on the dusty ground as he headed back to the viewing stand.

  Screw insomnia for making him come up with demented schemes.

  Because he did not want to risk the return of insomnia, at the end of the night he said to Noah, “It’s late to be driving back to West District.”

  It was late. They’d had a group dinner at the sports club after the paintball battle. A long dinner since Pop had been in the mood to re-tell the story, elaborately, of how he’d been the first pup to be given the primary shot.

  “No, no, I’ll get out of your hair.” Noah threw a balled-up t-shirt into his duffle bag.

  Trent kind of hovered in the spare room’s doorway. Hoping his desperation didn’t bleed into his voice, he said, “This would be one of those rebound duties we talked about.”

  Noah paused. Then took the t-shirt out of the duffle bag. “You did promise me the story of the spiderweb.”

  “Huh?”

  “The stuff on the living room floor.”

  Oh, that stuff. Only his entire history with Zach. “Come on, then. Before I lose my nerve.”

  The keepsakes lay undisturbed, just the way he’d left them the previous night. He sat cross-legged in the center, surprised when Noah chose to sit next to him on the floor rather than on the couch or armchair. He scooted to make a bit more room for Noah.

  “Where would you like me to start?”

  Noah pointed at a collection of movie tickets.

  “Star Wars. First movie we were allowed to go to without adult supervision. We go to every one since then.” Except in Trent’s head, it went like: First real date. Every new release is date night.

  Noah made no comment but pointed at a pinecone.

  Sadness tugged at Trent. He picked up the pinecone and placed it next to him, starting a “To Keep” pile. “My dad hated flowers. When he died, me and Zach made a wreath of pine needles and pinecones. This one survived. We were ten.”

  Noah draped an arm across Trent’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple. He still made no comment, but the comfort he offered said it all. Encouraged, Trent went on.

  “The other alphas started dropping by soon after the funeral. Mom was still young, a widowed omega. I’d hear her say no, and it’s too soon. But they just kept coming. Scared the shit out of me. I mentioned it to Zach after school one day. He came over and stayed all day. Told each alpha that dropped by that his granddad was in love with my mom.” He smiled at the memory. “Big lie, but not one of those alphas were going to chance it.”

  Noah’s soft laugh floated over him. “They never came back?”

  “Nope. And Zach never quite went away. Those boxes? They’re from the apartment we shared at college. I never would’ve been allowed to go to college without an alpha vouching for me. My driver’s license, my bank account. Pegasus. All because Zach was always there to vouch for me.”

  Saying it out loud took some of the sting out of his predicament. Whatever anyone might say about Zach, they couldn’t accuse him of not caring. He’d just been a little kid, taking on the responsibilities of an alpha.

  If Noah was thinking the same, he didn’t voice it. He tapped on the pile of postcards.

  That was easy. A happy memory. “First road trip after high school. We were such idiots. Sent each other postcards from every place we stopped. I came home and Mom had all these cards waiting. She was like, but weren’t you with Zach the whole time?” He laughed, sobering the next moment when a thought occurred. “You’re going to have to meet Mom and sister when they get back. I hate that we’ll be lying to them.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Boston. My grandma broke her leg in a fall, they’re helping to take care of her.”

  “The lying may not need to happen. We could be fake broken up by the time they come home.” Noah looked the piles over and pointed. “Let’s do that one.”

  Trent worked through the keepsakes. Some were easy. Others he shared with a lump in his throat. Noah stayed right there, his arm comfort and his silence non-judgment. Of the spiderweb, only the pinecone and the postcards made it into the “To Keep” pile. Trent threw everything else into the grate and lit a fire.

  He and Noah lay slotted together on the couch, his back to Noah’s chest, and watched the fire burn down to nothing.

  That night, Trent slept in his own bed and woke up there eight and a half hours later, rested, lighter. Looking forward to Noah moving in.

  ****

  Noah didn’t come into Pegasus Monday night. He sent a text: Packing.

  Tuesday night, Noah still didn’t come into Pegasus. He texted: Still packing.

  Trent glanced up from his phone as someone slid onto Noah’s stool at the counter. He clamped his teeth against the urge to tell the guy that stool wasn’t free. Ridiculous, guarding the stool like it belonged to Noah. He hovered his thumbs over his phone’s keypad, not sure whether to follow their no bull policy and ask Noah outright if the other night’s oversharing had freaked him out.

  Paranoia, much? mocked his common sense.

  Noah worked at professoring all day. The only time he had to pack was at night.

  He texted back: Clearly you own too much shit.

  Noah: Clearly. See you Friday. With my shit.

  Trent: Spare key under the welcome mat if I’m not home.

  He put his phone away and beamed at a customer. “Hey, there. What can I get you?”

  That night, for some unknown reason, the insomnia returned. He climbed out of bed after three futile hours and went into the dining room to unpack the “Living Room” box. There was hardly anything worth keeping as he already had everything he needed for his living room. Same went for the kitchen. He put the boxes aside to donate to the community center.

  At sunup, he lay on the couch and turned on the TV for some background noise. The insomnia relented for about half an hour, but then he was awake, his head pounding. He stared at the plasma screen. Some baking show on Netflix. Three gooey, nauseating chocolate cakes later, he rolled off the couch and unpacked the “Bathroom” box.

  Wednesday evening, he arrived at Pegasus spaced out from lack of sleep. The day staff, just off duty, were gathered in a huddle around one of the tables.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Kim, who was already behind the counter.

  “They’re watching a video.”

  “What video?”

  Kim shrugged. “I don’t know, Trent. Here’s an idea, ask the ones who are watching it?”

  He stared at her for a beat.

  She stared right back. “What?”

  “Nothing.” A band tightened across his brow. “Guys, what are you watching?”

  “Pirate drone footage from T
op Dog Island. Sebastian just—”

  “Turn it off! I don’t care what Sebastian’s doing. Turn that thing off, now.”

  Staff and customers gawped at his outburst. Let them gawp. His pulse galloped, the band of tightness on his temples excruciating. Violence reared, turning his vision red. Sebastian fucking Gage. The reason for Zach’s desertion, ergo, the enemy.

  “Take it easy, Trent,” said Kimberley.

  He headed for his office, gesturing for her to follow him. She closed the door behind her, saying in that condescending tone, “What’s with the drama?”

  “What’s with the attitude?” he shot back.

  “What attitude?”

  He glanced at her folded arms and cocked hip, the mutinous line of her tightly pressed lips. “In case you were wondering, I have hiring and firing power. Yes, this lowly omega can fire your disrespectful beta ass. Take the rest of night off to think about that.”

  She had the good sense not to slam the door on her way out.

  Trent sank onto the couch. His knees were shaky, possibly from an adrenaline crash. Probably from the drone footage. If it could capture Sebastian, then it could capture Zach. Trent couldn’t, not just yet. He didn’t have the strength to watch Zach and not break. More unbearable, watch Zach and Sebastian together. A hundred times no.

  He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and texted Noah. Red Lounge Saturday night.

  Five minutes and twelve seconds ticked by before Noah replied. Why? What happened?

  Not about to whine about his insomnia and the rest, he sent back: Nothing happened. So?

  Noah: Looks like I’m gonna need a turtleneck sweater.

  Trent didn’t have any laughs in him, but he smiled at the absurdity. Like a turtleneck sweater was any defense against a vampire hellbent on biting you.

  That night turned out to be the worst yet. Usually he’d snatch a half hour of sleep here, ten minutes there. But not this time. He wandered around the house, listless. Nothing to do since he’d sorted out all the boxes and stacked the “To Donate” ones ready to take to the community center.

  He stared at the dead potted plants in the living room. Ought to do something about them. Water them. He’d get on that when he wasn’t too numb to care. In bed was where he needed to be. Back in the hallway, he went past his room. Too numb to care what it might mean that he was climbing into Noah’s bed.