Melody pulled her faded pink hair up into a ponytail and tied it. “Catcher must think you need a watchdog again.” She looked down at him. “Don’t you know that Atticus is coming back?”
When I scratched the wolf’s ear, he put his head on the armrest of my wooden chair. “He’s acting stranger than usual. I don’t know what to make of it. It’s been a fight just to keep him out of the bathroom.”
“Well, Catcher’s weird,” she replied, then glanced over at me. “That dress looks good on you. I’m so used to seeing you in baggy clothes.”
My pea-green dress showed off my curvy figure. I wondered why Atticus had chosen something so formfitting. I once asked him how he felt about my weight and the possibility that I might never have my old body back. I hadn’t expected his reaction. He said he found me irresistible and made me promise never to bring up weight again.
Well, who could argue with that?
I’d spent my life striving to keep the hourglass shape of a celebrity, and now I was finally comfortable in my own skin. The biggest lesson this pregnancy had taught me was not to depend on the approval of others.
We watched Virgil doing a handstand on the bar while singing “Lights” by Journey, which was playing on the vintage jukebox.
His voice was mesmerizing.
A man shouted, “I’ll pay you to shut the hell up!” and threw a handful of pennies at him.
Calvin didn’t seem to care what happened in his bar so long as nobody shifted or stole his booze. But from the moment I walked in, he stubbed out every cigarette that lit up.
For me.
When the song ended, Virgil jumped off the bar and collided with a tall fellow heading out. He wrapped his arms around the man to catch his balance, but the two crashed onto the floor.
“It’s no surprise I’m the designated driver,” Melody remarked. “I guess I can’t complain. They had to carry me out that one time when I tried the house drink. Sensory magic is ten times stronger than alcohol. I thought I was teleporting to another dimension.”
“I can drive.”
She snorted. “You can barely get out of the car without assistance. Be right back.”
Melody hopped up and headed toward Virgil. Her black-and-purple patchwork jeans were her favorites, and she matched them with a purple undershirt, cropped black sweatshirt, and colorful sneakers. I’d never met anyone so sure of who she was and not afraid to show the world. She once told me her talent didn’t come naturally, but she had always been interested in clothes and designs, making mistakes along the way. Seeing her create a company out of that dream encouraged me to discover my own passions.
After dragging Virgil back to the table, Melody pulled out a chair and shoved him into the seat. “Stay.” She patted his head.“Good boy.”
Virgil flipped back his unkempt hair, revealing glassy eyes.
“How much did you have to drink?” I asked.
He shrugged and stared at the table. Virgil wasn’t acting himself today. Usually sensory drinks or alcohol brought out his lively or introspective personality. Tonight, he was all over the place. One minute grumpy, the next performing, and now melancholy.
“Leave me alone!” he shouted over his shoulder. Then he put his head down on the table. “We should be with them. Packs stick together. What if they die?”
Melody kicked him beneath the table.
“Ow! Stop kicking Chastity!”
Melody chortled. “The cat tat?”
Virgil bent over, and when he sat up again, he put his right leg on the table, his jeans pulled up to the knee. “She’s my protector.”
Melody examined the tattoo. The cat on his shin was positioned so it was sitting on his ankle, turned away but lookingover its shoulder at you. The green eyes were eerily realistic. “It’s a house cat. You shoulda got a panther or something cool.”
“Shows what you know,” he muttered while putting his foot back on the floor.
“If you two think this little outing is distracting me, you’re wrong,” I informed them. “I’m worried sick that something will happen to Atticus, and not talking about it makes it worse.”
Virgil frowned. “What about Krys? He’s your packmate.”
“Him too. Both of them.”
