She scoffs and acts like I’m the aggressor here. Home at last, only to assume my rightful mantle as the problem child. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different, really.
“Where is she going?” Aiden interrupts, leaning to peer out the window like there’s a chance Elise’s car will turn around in the next few minutes. “Did she say she was heading to the brewery or going home?”
“I don’t know,” I snap over my shoulder. Aiden mutters something about just wondering, and slumps against the window.
I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. He didn’t deserve that from me. “I’m sorry, man. I think we all just need a minute.”
“We all need a minute,” my mother echoes, clearly in disagreement. She turns her glare on me, hands on her hips, and asks the question I’ve been dreading. “I want to know why you scared her off. I mean, what are you even doing here?”
My jaw tightens. Keeping my promise to Elise is already being tested, and I doubt my family is going to stop until they’re satisfied.
“I heard about the wedding. Laura posted about it,” I say, kind of casually. I wince as my mom’s perfectly plucked, thin eyebrows narrow.
“Laura told you?”
“No, Mom, she posted a picture of the wedding prep online.”
“I need to have a word with her,” Mom sighs. She puts her head in her hand, careful not to disturb her makeup or hair as she does. After a long moment, she simply says, “Well, we don’t have you in the seating chart.”
It’s as close to a direct statement that I’m not actually welcome here as I’ll probably get.
Logan materializes in the room in that sneak-up-on-you way he has, holding a few slices of cake that look like they’ve been in the oven too long, just on the edge of burning.
“I don’t know if Elise was planning to put icing on these, but I like the rum raisin one,” he says, his tone pretty indifferent tothe situation. I know that asshole is enjoying this. “But I know not everyone likes raisins, and I could go with the other one if she has a good icing flavor pairing for it.”
It’s so weird to hear him talk about my ex-wife like he knows her. He’d been on our parents’ side when Dad said he’d disown me if I brought home a human girl. How can he talk like he respects her opinions?
My mom barely looks at Logan. She’s too busy being disappointed in me, and after being gone for eight years, I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up.
After a few more thoughtful chews in the utter silence of the family meeting in the foyer, Logan offers, “I’ll call her in a bit, then.”
He would be the one to try to do damage control. He was always the good son. Of course, he would also be the one to get married to someone our mom picked out.
“I heard there’s been wolf sightings, Mom. Animal attacks,” I say, trying to stress the urgency that news made me feel. She looks on at me, unmoved, like I said nothing at all.
I glance at Aiden and Logan, the weight of that statement falling over them, at least. Their faces darken.
I’m not about to outright accuse one of them of going feral and attacking people. The pack code has always been not to expose outsiders to our curse, but going feral tends to make a wolf forget about upholding the code.
My mother, an alpha in her own right, purses her lips and deigns not to make eye contact with any of us. I know what she thinks. If I’m going to open this other whole can of worms andimply one of them has been losing themselves in their wolf form, it’ll have been my fault for leaving the pack in the first place.
I sigh and back off. “I was worried about you all. That’s it.”
“There have been no wolf sightings,” she says resolutely, and, for a moment, I doubt myself. I haven’t been here, maybe she knows better than I do.
But I can’t disregard what Laura told me.
I scoop up the newspaper from the table, holding it up for her to see. “What do you call this?”
“It’s nothing! We’re fine, we are as strong a family as we’ve ever been,” she insists.
She hasn’t changed, I realize. Eight years and not one shred of remorse, or reconsideration. She holds my stare with her arms crossed over her chest, determined to simply put her foot down. Deny, deny, deny, until the world follows suit and agrees with her.
I look her in the eyes, searching for any reprieve.
“Well, then. I see I was wrong to come here,” I say, grabbing my bag from the hook and heading back towards the door. There’s a little too much bite in my voice for talking to my mother.
I can see her wince at the snarl in my words, and it pierces my chest to see that I’m hurting her. I want it to stop, but I need her to stop fighting me too.
