The boy studies me over his mother’s shoulder, head tilted with that fearless curiosity only children possess. “You don’t look scary.”
His mother looks at me, cheeks pink, before spiriting him away. I’m guessing he wasn’t supposed to repeat that part.
“Smart kid.” Mitch observes, driving another nail home with three precise strikes. “Gives his mother hell, but he’s so clever.”
Mitch watches them fondly as they leave, and I sense his longing. He’s always wanted a family, and being the eldest, he’s waited long enough.
We work steadily as the house frame takes shape. My shoulders burn from the repetitive motion, but it’s a good burn from honest, hard work. As I roll them out, rubbing away the ache, Mitch curses, and I see his eyes locked onto the tiny scar left behind by my fierce little human.
Well, not mine, really. Not yet. But I’m hers. Always will be.
“Is that…?” Mitch trails off, voice low.
“Kind of. She didn’t know what it meant when she did it.”
Mitch stares, open-mouthed, then his brow creases. “Well, did you explain it to her? And do it back?” He looks around, confused, like Emma’s about to jump out from behind a tree.
“No. Hence why I’m here alone.” I glance around at the men I just reconnected with, including my brothers, and suddenly see them as unmated males, competition, men who shouldn’t be let anywhere near my mate.
Looking more than a little concerned, Mitch shakes his head, slowly at first, and getting more vigorous, but before he can tell me what I’m doing wrong, he’s interrupted.
“Good to have you back.” One of the old-timers pats me on the shoulder as he passes, calling it a day.
It’s such a simple thing, but my chest swells with emotion. No reprimand for not coming sooner. No judgement for staying away.
“The clan’s different now,” Mitch says quietly beside me, my disastrous mating situation temporarily forgotten. “We’re building something here. Something real. A proper fucking family for all these people, and a way of life that will keep them out of trouble.”
I watch a group of teenagers learning to frame a window from an elder, their faces intent with concentration. Former criminals and those they tormented under Leon’s rule work side by side; the past not forgotten, but not trapping them in a vicious cycle of bitterness and grudges either.
Everyone wants a fresh start.
“I can see that.” I admit. “You’ve done good, Mitch. You should be proud.”
He nods, accepting the compliment, but stands and looks me dead in the eye. “I am. We’ve done a lot, and we’ll keep making it better.” Mitch continues. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’d still be here to help.”
I press my lips into a thin line, not liking where this conversation is going.
“Mitch...”
He holds his hands up, all innocent with a smile on his face.
“Just saying.” He shrugs and moves to help secure another beam. “And I’m not trying to guilt you. You need to do what’s right for you, too. For both of you.”
We lock eyes, but he doesn’t ask where my mate is or what she thinks about all of this because he knows if things were good, she’d be by my side.
We work for hours. My hands are blistered, my back aches, and I’m covered in sawdust and sweat. But when Mitch finallysays we’ve done enough for the day, I stand back and look at what we’ve accomplished. It’s just a frame still, but it’s solid.
“Same time tomorrow?” Frank asks the group at large. “The weather’s supposed to hold.”
There’s a chorus of agreement. People gather their tools, and as they drift away in twos and threes, I remain standing here, staring at the house frame as if it holds answers to questions I haven’t figured out how to ask.
“So?” Mitch appears at my elbow, toolbox in hand. “You helping tomorrow?”
The smart answer is no. I should leave before I get more entangled, but the truth is, I enjoyed it more than I want to admit.
“Maybe,” I hear myself say.
Mitch nods like that’s the answer he expected before steering me over to where someone’s got a grill going, the smell of burgers and hot dogs making my stomach growl.
