He’s not happy. I’m supposed to be telling you, he’ll give you over the asking price, was his next text.
I’m sorry to be putting you in an awkward position, Anders. But the answer is no.
No problem,he replied.I’ve just told him. He might be coming your way.
Anders must have seen me in the garage. Shit. I peered around the corner as a familiar car pulled up in front of the garage. It was Father’s and Saul was driving. Had Saul seen me sneaking around? If he had, he probably hadn’t wanted to speak to me in case my fake brother caught us.
Charles stormed out of the garage yelling about how he wanted that damned car. Saul opened the door for him and when he closed it, he looked straightat me and winked.
That felt so good. Go me.
Saul drove off in the opposite direction and I could almost see the clouds of steam coming from the back seat. But now I had to decide what to do about the car. I couldn’t leave it with Anders indefinitely.
Another text arrived from Anders.I have a suggestion. What do you think of leasing the car, month by month?
That was something I hadn’t thought of. I raced into Anders’ office. He had a customer, a car lover, who was interested in leasing the vehicle. Anders vouched for the guy, saying he was a good friend and he’d treat the car well. I agreed when Anders told me how much I’d get each month, minus his cut. I was more than pleased. No more worrying about rent and food money.
The guy, Branson came to the garage, we chatted and signed the papers. He even gave me a lift home in the car. It was a good day.
18
HUSTON
No brother of his
Things were weird around the house. I felt Candrin was avoiding me and that made me feel guilty because the only reason he would be doing it was because I made him uncomfortable. Or so my pesky brain kept telling me. What I could do to fix that, I didn’t know.
So instead I continued to do what would at least make him smile—I started to cook. He liked my boring baked chicken well enough, so I decided to make my famous Buttered Chicken for him. True, it was only famous in my family, but fame is fleetingso I might as well embrace it.
I was just putting the chicken in the fridge to marinate when Candrin came home. Just like always, I couldn’t read him. Part of that was his scent calling me and stealing a bit of my brain, but part of it was the deep-seated sadness he tried not to show. It was like a veil covering him at all times and I hated it for him.
“I’m making buttered chicken. This needs to go in the fridge for half an hour, but I can probably have dinner on the table in just about sixty minutes.” I went to the fridge instead of to Candrin, where I wanted to be.
I longed to hug him close and let him know, whatever it was, it would be okay and that I was there for him. But it would be too much, too soon. He wasn’t like me. He couldn’t just inhale my scent and then poof know that I was his always and forever. That wasn’t how humans worked and I needed to be cognizant of that, to respect it, to be patient.
“I haven’t had buttered chicken in a long time.” He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Are you sure there’s enough? I was going to make some spaghetti or something easy.”
Feed.
Protect.
Provide.
My bear very much didn’t like hearing our mate’s confession. I had nothing against spaghetti. But if you weren’t going to add any protein, it wasn't the best meal after a long day, one I suspected didn’t include lunch. And if it was his dietary choice because he loved it and couldn’t get enough of the carby goodness, that would be one thing. But money was tight for him, despite what his fancy clothes might say.
“My recipe feeds four. I don’t know how to cut it down and still have it taste nice. I halved it once and it wasn’t good.” The sauce just wasn’t enough and it ended up dry. But he didn’t need all of those details and I wasn’t sure he was going to believe the ones I gave him based on how he was looking at me.
“I like buttered chicken.” He started to cross the kitchen and for a split second I thought it was to hug me and my heart started pounding. But he wasn’t, instead he was heading out of the room.
“I’m glad. Are you… are you okay?”
He shookhis head.
“Do you need a hug?”
A single nod had me racing to his side and opening my arms for him. He fell into them, accepting the comfort I was offering. I held him tightly and neither of us spoke for at least a full minute when he thanked me, said he was going to take a shower, and would be down in time for dinner.
It felt important that he allowed me to give him that comfort, like it somehow deepened our connection. I just wished that there were indicators aside from his words that it helped. He still had that aura of discontent as he walked away.
