“You were a kid who made a mistake, like we all do, but this one…” Dave shook his head, torn between anger at Justin for what he’d done, and pity for the wolves that had been killed and the weight Justin had been carrying that he didn’t deserve. “The consequences of this onesuck. But you can start putting it right now.”
Justin drew back and eyed him cautiously.
“Would you swear before a court—shifter or federal—to what you just told me?”
Dave could see Justin’s hesitation at the thought of having to confess toeveryonehis guilt and his shame, but then his spine stiffened and he drew himself up. “I would,” he said. “I will, if that’s what’s needed.”
Dave nodded, fierce exultation running through him. Because they’d found out who was responsible—Matt evidently knew who Duane was—and could bring it to court.
Justin’s eyes were fixed on Dave’s, painful and begging. “Your friend,” he said. “Will you tell him—I didn’tknow. If there was anything I could do to make up for it, anything at all, I would.”
Dave nodded, though he could never tell Jesse that a teenager’s crush had been responsible for the slaughter of his pack. And then he winced, because that wasn’t fair—the only one responsible was the one who’d done it.
“You ever thought about moving away from here?” he asked. Being here must be a constant reminder of what had happened. “Somewhere by the ocean, perhaps?”
“I should’ve left years ago. Half the pack did, after Barton took over. I don’t know why I stayed. Habit, I guess. Or maybe I thought I didn’t deserve to leave.”
Made sense, but so did staying from habit. Dave knew all too well that sometimes it felt safer not to choose, even though that itself was a choice.
Justin shrugged. “Kyle and Meg are living out near Portland,” he said, his voice husky. “Maybe I could go visit them, see how it suits. They’ve got three little kids I’ve never met, even though he named the youngest after me.”
“Well, there you go,” Dave said.
He rose to his feet. Justin needed to find a way forward, but Dave couldn’t spend any more time on him—he had to let Matt know what he’d found out.
“Do you ever think about going back to the coast?” Justin asked hesitantly as he stood up.
Dave shook his head briefly, giving a quick smile to try and soften it.
“We wouldn’t want to leave our pack,” he said, before his stomach lurched as he remembered Christian’s words from the night before.
“We?”
“We’re mates, me and Christian.”
He pretended not to see the crestfallen look on Justin’s face.
“I didn’t realize,” Justin said. “I got the impression—you seemed kind of casual. Like fuck buddies.”
He turned away and headed for the gate.
Guilt gnawed at Dave as he followed, because if he’d just been paying more attention, there’d have been no misunderstandings, no chances for Justin to get his hopes up.
He walked with Justin across the parking lot to a newly washed pickup and hoped he hadn’t cleaned it up just for today. Justin’s head was bowed as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He looked utterly defeated.
Dave wasn’t sure how much of what he was feeling was guilt and how much was compassion, but he didn’t want Justin to leave like this.
“Listen,” he said. “That guy knew they were around here somewhere, and he’d have found them one way or another. He used you, Justin, and that’s not on you. It’s all on him. You weren’t much more than a kid and he fucking used you, you hear me? It’s not your fault.”
Justin’s eyes fixed on him then, and there was something in them—maybe it was hope, maybe it wasn’t, but he was holding Dave’s gaze, which was an improvement.
“That was just one thing you did. It’s no more or less important than everything else you’ve done in your life, all the good things, all the right decisions. Don’t let it define you.”
He could see the way Justin processed his words, before his shoulders went back and he stood a little taller. Justin didn’t believe it, not yet, but maybe he would one day if he worked at it hard enough.
Dave hoped so. He wondered, briefly, whether he’d believe it himself if someone said it to him. Because the thing was, he didn’t think anything was unforgivable. Not really. But he still didn’t know if he could forgiveher.
He’d told himself for years that what his mom did, walking away and leavinghim, was about her, not him. But the ache in his heart had never fully faded, along with the fear—no, the knowledge—that he’d been too much. She’d given up on him because he’d been too demanding, wanted too much from her.
