Page 21 of Resisted
When my plate was full, I walked away, not daring to glance back. Not wanting to. I found a spot with some of the men from the pack and sat back, listening as they spouted the latest pack drama. It was interesting how much time could change things. The pack, the community, Bella. I assumed I’d changed. I was positive if you asked Silas or Boyce, they would declare that I’d become more of an asshole over the years. It was probably true. Funny how when I was Boyce’s age, the thought of all the time in the world was grand and great. But now? I loathed it. I loathed the knowledge that I would always be lonely, loathed the mere fact that my mate was dead. When you had a dead mate, what exactly was there to look forward to? Nothing. Nothing besides living a life and dying surrounded by my subpack. No late nights of sneaking kisses or secret inside jokes. No learning how they liked their coffee or the tiniest possibility of children.
Not that I ever really wanted children. At least I hadn’t until the option was torn from me. Then it became important, like an insistent, impulsive need to repopulate the world with the tiniest piece of me. Obviously, it was for the best, because I was pretty fucked up and the world needed less of that. Even so, the option would have been nice.
I ate my food, then had seconds. I avoided Bella. Thank fuck for that. I couldn’t look her in the eye, nor did I want to. Not when she’d suddenly grown into such an incredible-looking woman and my only focus seemed to be on her body. I was like a damn caveman. It was embarrassing, really, and appalling. I’d held her tiny little fur body in my hands, babysat the sassy as fuck kid, and drawn fake tattoos up her arm myself. I suddenly wondered if she had real tattoos now… Then I nearly screamed because with as little clothes as she was wearing, if she had a real tattoo, surely it would be in some forbidden place that I would never see.
“It’s been a while.” George sat next to me, and I nearly choked on the beer I’d just sucked down.
If he knew I’d just been thinking about his kid, he would rip my throat out. “Definitely been a while.”
“What have you kids been up to these days?” He leaned back in the chair.
I licked my lips, tasting the alcohol on them. “You know, killing poachers, saving shifters. Rinse and repeat.”
“Not visiting us, that’s for sure.”
I rolled my head back. “If this is to scold me, save it,” I muttered. I knew it was disrespectful, but no one really expected respect from me, anyway. “If you have a problem with our sparse appearances, you need to talk to your son—the alpha of our subpack.”
It was a reminder that we did as he wished. Except now, when we were secretly rebelling, but that was small details. The thing about George, though, was he took none of my bullshit. “Should I call him and let him know I’ve found his boys?”
“George, do you realize how fucking moody your son is? Why would you hand us over to additional torture?” I tossed back another swig of beer. “Besides, my presence is a treat.”
“Boy, you’re delusional if you think having you here is a gift. You’ve already eaten your weight in food.”
I just shrugged. I wasn’t exactly small, and maintaining the muscles needed to do our job meant lots of working out and, in turn, eating for energy. It was a circle. “Talk to your wife, she invited me.”
George just laughed. “You’ll never learn any social skills.”
“Probably not.”
Jeff, another of Silas’ fathers, strolled over. “I need more charcoal. Can you watch the grill?”
“I’ll get it,” I volunteered and stood, stretching. “I needed another beer, anyway.”
“Might as well earn what you’re drinking,” George added.
Jeff looked between George and me before finally giving in. “We have a few bags in the garage.”
I didn’t need further instructions. I’d been to their garage a thousand times before. If I had to, I could probably navigate my way through it blindfolded. I walked the distance across their large yard to the garage’s side door and pulled it open, knowing it would be unlocked. No one locked their shit around here. Why would they? You would have to be dumb as fuck to steal from a shifter.
Inside was dark, and I ran my hand along the wall, searching for the light switch. I found it easy enough, and when the lights flicked on, I cringed. Okay, navigating blindfolded was off the list. Apparently, they hadn’t cleaned this place since the last time Silas forced us to help. Which was what? The three years since we were here, plus an extra two? Still, I stumbled through the mess, searching for any signs of charcoal. I didn’t see it.
Twenty fucking minutes later, I was still in the disaster zone, lifting garbage consisting of old boxes, things that would never be collectable, and Silas’ old baseball shit. It was ridiculous. How could someone whose house looked so fucking clean have a garage that belonged to hoarders?
“Need help?” I jumped twenty fucking feet at the sound of her voice.
“What I need is access to a fucking dumpster and the recycling center,” I responded.
“It’s on the to-do list, to clean in here.” She sighed. “But I’m not in a hurry to volunteer my time.”
“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t either.”
She took a few steps into the garage, and though I knew where she was and every damn step she took, I tried to keep my eyes averted. “I was sent to help. They need that charcoal.”
“What they needed to do was warn me. No wonder Jeff didn’t say a fucking word when I volunteered to walk in here.” I pushed aside an empty box, wondering if I should just break these down as I went along.
“It’s over here.” She pointed to an area that I’d just finished checking.
“I’ve already looked there.”