I really am going feral. I wonder if my Aunt Danielle felt like this. Too bad I can’t ask her. Then again, I probably wouldn’t exist if she were alive.
I double over, hunched against my knees almost instantly. I swallow, clasping my hands together behind my head, taking in a few shallow breaths.
“She left me. All my bullshit was hurting her, and what we had wasn’t worth the pain I caused her. I wish I’d been able to see that when I needed to. You were right, in the end.”
Even as I admit it, I’m still not ready to hearI told you so.
I expect my mom to bring up the sanctity of the pack, but the lectures I could repeat in my sleep never come.
For many moments, there’s utter silence, and I can only hear the creak of my bones pushing against each other. My mother’s heels click against the tile floor as she crosses to the bench. It creaks as she sits down beside me.
“Oh, my baby. I’m sorry.”
Her long nails comb through my hair. Her elbow rests against my back as she continues the motion, and I find myself leaning into her side.
I close my eyes, too raw to find healing in it. If I’m going feral, being with my pack should keep me safe, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
“Don’t say that. You think I make stupid choices.”
“Shawn. I just want you to be happy. I want the best for you. For all my children to stay safe and never let the world put you through the things I’ve seen.” She sighs, as I find the wherewithal to sit up a little more and turn enough to look at her. The crinkles around her eyes deepen as they become a little glassy. “But ever since you came back, I see a ghost every time I look at you.”
“Danielle.” I exhale. It hasn’t escaped me that I look more like my aunt than anyone else in my family.
My mother shakes her head. “My little boy.”
I search her warm, brown eyes, and she withdraws her gaze, clasping her hands in her lap. “Sometimes I wonder if I wanted too much for you. I put too much pressure on you and pushed you away.”
This might be the first calm, easy conversation we’ve had since I’ve gotten here. It’s a home I haven’t stepped in for years.
I swallow, taking that in. I haven’t felt like I had my mom in so long. My throat tightens as the emotion swells in my chest.
Her expression is soft, as she says, “I doubt you will believe me, but I’m proud of you in a lot of ways. You made it out in the world alone, something that terrified me.”
Those words don’t quite sink in, the way I thought they should. “You can be proud of me when I haven’t made the same choices as Logan?”
“You’re different people. I am proud of him for taking on the family business and making connections in a way I wasn’t prepared to teach him, after your father passed.”
“He’s just doing what he thinks Dad would have wanted him to do.”
A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. “He’s downstairs. I imagine he can hear us.”
“Lovely. I’ll go talk shit to his face, then,” I grumble, forcing myself to stand. The night is getting darker, and I ought to remember why I came here in the first place.
Her hands tighten together in her lap as she looks at me, her brow pinching in concern. “You look unwell. Did something happen?”
I think for a moment of telling her everything. I think about all the times I wanted her to be there for me, to hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright. All the times I was too afraid of her disappointment to admit my flaws to her.
I give my head a little shake. “No.”
The stone steps down into the brewery’s basement feel too familiar as I descend, finding the dim lights already on.
We’d only ever used the basement for the nights of the full moon, when our curse was at its worst. The rooms are spaced far between, each with a heavy sliding door with a lock that requires opposable thumbs to open.
It had been a necessity in high school, when my wolf was especially hard to control. When I’d gone to college in another state, it had become necessary to figure out something else—running, aconite-laced drinks.
Eventually I got the hang of it, if only tenuously. I could be sure my wolf would run the hills of empty woods, maybe stalk a deer. It would stay instinctually away from people, I’d found. When I came back, I couldn’t stomach the thought of spending the night down here anymore. It was the first of many fights with my family.
There’s something about the cellars that reminds me too much of church. Maybe it’s the stone walls and floors, reminiscent of a cathedral. Not for its splendor, but for its coldness, its discomfort. It’s kind of hard to keep furniture in the cellar rooms, seeing as it gets wrecked and splintered every full moon.
