Page 32 of Shadow of Fury

He reached back into the fridge and grabbed a second can of beer before sauntering over to the table and collapsing down into his seat. Wren breathed in and out and tried not to let her fury overcome her. Raven put a hand on her arm and she fought not to jerk away from what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

“Ignore him. He’s an idiot.” Her sister spoke softly and Wren scoffed.

“He’s a drunk. That doesn’t mean he’s stupid.”

“Wren…” Raven winced but she shook her sister off.

“It’s fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with.”

Wren returned to the table and put the serving utensils down before taking her own seat.

It had been six years but there were still five seats shoved in at the table. For as long as she could remember, her family had all sat in the same seats. Her father, at the head of the table despite it being round. His seat was larger than the others and had once belonged to Wren’s grandfather. Her mother sat to his right with Raven on the other side of her and Wren beside her. Lark had always sat in the chair to their father’s left and it remained empty as they all took their places.

Wren had never once considered touching Lark’s chair. Not to move it, even though it would give them all more room around the table to spread out. Certainly not to sit in it. But at that moment she wanted to pick the stupid piece of wood up and smash it to bits.

Because this was all Lark’s fault. Everything they’d become was because of her. If she’d just stayed home that night like she was supposed to, everything would be different.

Her sister would still be alive. Her parents wouldn’t be addicted to the numbness their substance of choice provided. Raven wouldn’t have to pretend everything was fine all the time, always checking on everyone else, playing peacemaker and being the glue that tried to hold them all together. And Wren wouldn’t feel this awful mix of guilt, shame, and anger.

Or maybe she was wrong?

Maybe if Lark was alive things would be just as bad as they were now but in a different way. Lark would have realized when she turned eighteen that she was never meant to be mated with Logan and when he sparked the bond with Wren she would have been furious. Their parents would have taken Lark’s side because they always did. Raven would still be playing peacemaker between all of them. And Wren would still feel like an outsider in her own family.

There was no way of knowing because they couldn’t go back in time. They couldn’t change anything. This was the life that fate had given them and wishing for things that couldn’t be was a path leading only towards madness. She knew that. It was why she’d always focused on her anger, on her quest for justice, because at least she was doing something even if it never felt like enough.

“Wren?”

“Hmm?” She realized belatedly that her sister had said her name and glanced up from her plate.

“Corn?” Raven offered the bowl and Wren took it from her instinctively.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Raven smiled.

“No. I mean it.” Wren caught her sister’s gaze and held it, feeling the need to express how much all that Raven did for them truly meant. “Thank you for all that you do. You make sure we don’t forget about the important things. You take care of us all, even though you’re the baby of the family, and you don’t get enough recognition for that. So, thank you for all that you do.”

Raven’s bottom lip trembled slightly but she tilted her chin up and kept her grin in place, “Thank you for saying that.”

“Thank you for making us dinner.”

Their father made a noise and when they both turned to face him he shrugged, “That’s what she does. She cooks. That’s her job.”

Wren narrowed her eyes at their father, “It’s not her job to cook for us.”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, Wren. You know what I meant.”

“I’m not sure I do?”

Raven spoke over her, “Yes, Dad. I’m a chef at Cafe Callisto but I enjoy getting to cook for my family too, especially on special occasions.”

“Special occasions?” Mavis blinked and Wren wanted to shake her out of her oblivion.

“Your birthday.” Raven only nodded. “We’re celebrating your birthday, Mom.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She nodded as if she hadn’t already forgotten. “You cooked for my birthday.”

“Yes, I did.” Raven put some meat on their mother’s plate like she was a child. “I made turkey, just the way you like it. Here, try a bite.”