“Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t cross the threshold. “Good night, Wil.”
“I—I can’t believe your family is—is so—kind.” With the last word, a sob broke free. Still Ezra did not enter the room, so she pushed to her feet and went to him. He drew her close, and all her hurt and fear and sadness ebbed within the circle of his arms. A gentle rumble filled his chest, and she rested her head there. But she knew something. Something important. She pressed her palm to his chest too, and…yes. This. His chest barely moved with each breath. She’d felt it while he held her earlier, and it was no better now.
“It’s happening right now, isn’t it,” she whispered. “The tightness you get in your chest.”
He nodded, his chin bumping the top of her head.
And her parents had caused it. She could cry with the shame of her family’s actions, but she wouldn’t fall apart. Instead she would help her wolf. She wrapped her arm around his back and rubbed a slow circle.
He drew one deeper breath, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks. Now you sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”
“But you’re not okay yet.”
“My folks need to know what happened. I think it’ll help to tell them about it.”
She trudged to the bed and drew back the covers. She eyed her carry-on, calculated the effort required to change into pajamas. As if reading her mind—did her scent give so much away?—Ezra nudged the bag toward her on its wheels, and it came to rest by her foot.
“You’ll be glad in the morning,” he said with a little smile.
“Okay.”
“Good night, Wil.” Then he shut the door.
Fifteen
Hehadn’tdrawnadeep breath since first laying eyes on Willow’s parents—not until just now, when Willow held him close. His body had managed one full breath while she touched him. But her bleary, blank eyes and the exhaustion dampening her scent were more important. As her bedroom door shut, Ezra’s throat closed around some kind of salty lump.
Another gentle hand on his shoulder. And his mom’s scent. Her hand in his hand, leading him back to the dining room. Here—his dad, his brother. His family, his pack. He needed them close right now, and here they were. Relief thawed the lump in his throat so fast, he couldn’t contain himself. He clung to Mom’s hand, and a soft whine escaped him as his eyes burned. When he halted Mom stayed beside him, murmuring gently.
“There, son, there. Come sit.”
He folded into one of the wolf-sized wooden chairs, and Mom dragged her smaller chair close to his and kept one hand on his arm.
“Ez?” Trevor said. His bright eyes seemed a darker blue at the moment.
“I need…I need to tell y’all what happened.” Ezra began to pour it out—or rather to eke it out, his words halting as he remembered the horror in the eyes of Willow’s mom, the fury in the voice of her dad. He said, “Brandon got me against the car, punched me a few times, and then I—”
Trevor sprang out of his chair. “The guyhityou?”
“Not my face.” Ezra pressed a palm to the rib that ached.
Trevor’s scent rolled in waves, his outrage pungent as gasoline. He balled his hands into fists, ground his teeth for a second, then lurched away from the table toward the door.
“Trevor,” Dad said.
“It’s too much, Dad.”
“Sit down.”
“No.” Trevor shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his keys from the rack alongside the coat closet.
“You don’t even know where he lives,” Ezra said.
“His scent’s on you. That’s him, isn’t it? The awful phony splash-stuff?”
Crap. “It won’t be enough for you to find his house, Trev.”
