“We accept your hospitality,” Gerard said with a faint smile.
“Dibs on the cornbread,” Hermes said, heading back to the cabin.
Scáthach held out her hand to Órlaith, who took it with a smile on her face. The two goddesses followed after Hermes. Gerard watched them go for a few seconds before looking over at Patrick.
“Stay for dinner,” Gerard said.
Patrick shook his head. “We really should get going. It’s a long drive back to our hotel in Missoula, and our flight leaves pretty early tomorrow.”
“Stay. Please.”
They stared at each other in silence, the giggles and shrieks from the changeling children echoing in the crisp, cold air.
“You lied to me. But it’s been brought to my attention that I’ve done a lot of lying myself.”
“You had your reasons.”
“So did you.”
“I’m still sorry. I always will be.” Gerard extended his hand, meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Nothing that matters is ever easy, and you have always mattered, Patrick. I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you.”
Patrick could have ignored the gesture of peace, but Sage’s words from the roof stairwell still resonated with him in the back of his mind. He reached out and grasped Gerard’s hand, gripping it tight. “I don’t care where you are when you get married, but you better fucking invite me, Smooth Dog.”
Gerard’s face split into a wide smile at the use of the field nickname. “Yeah. Of course I will. Yours will be the first invitation I send out when I write them up for the team.”
A tight knot unfurled in Patrick’s chest, making it easier to breathe. He could hold on to the feeling of betrayal that had been with him since Tír na nÓg or let it go. Nothing good came of a wound left to fester, and Patrick chose to believe that Gerard’s apology was sincere, because that was the only way to move on. Gaining a pack over the last half a year had made it clear what Patrick had missed since leaving the Mage Corps.
Family.
Something Gerard would always be, because Patrick had always looked up to him like a brother. He wasn’t willing to give that up simply because the gods had fucked with both of them in the end.
“Come on,” Gerard said, gesturing at the cabin. “I want to introduce you to Scáthach and tell her all about you.”
“She asked about your stories, not mine.”
Gerard’s smile tempered into something fond. “You are part of my stories, Patrick.”
Patrick swallowed past a hard knot in his throat, not knowing what to say to that.
Gerard headed for the cabin, and Patrick watched him go.
“You all right?” Jono asked in a low voice, a warm presence beside him that would never leave.
“Yeah,” Patrick said before taking a deep breath and reaching for Jono’s hand.
For once, the answer didn’t feel like a lie.
Together, they walked toward the cabin, where Gerard and all the names he went by waited for them.
24
Patrick steppedinside the flat first, turning on the lights. Jono squeezed past him and headed for the kitchen. Whoever had come by yesterday while they’d been out of state had left the heat on, so the place was cozily warm.
The stack of Tupperware containers in Jono’s hands was heavy with leftovers. Considering the loads of food that had been cooked and brought by the Tempest pack for the Christmas Eve meal at Marek’s place—enough to feed a small army or a pack of werecreatures—he hadn’t thought any would be left.
Jono made room in the refrigerator for the leftovers, taking a moment to check that none of the herbs had fallen out of the goose where it sat in a pan on the bottom shelf. Jono needed to remember to ask Marek’s assistant where she’d found the shop that produced the bird. He hadn’t had roast goose for Christmas since leaving England, but Patrick had surprised him with the meal when their groceries had been delivered early that afternoon after arriving home from Montana.
He straightened up and closed the refrigerator door. Digging through the cabinets, he pulled out a bottle of Macallan and two glasses. After pouring a generous amount, he carried both out to the living room, where Patrick was sprawled on the couch, staring at the lit-up Christmas tree.
