DAN
Given the cold wind blowing up from the lake, I decide to pick Corin up at the nearest tram stop—nothing more or less than I’ve done for my children on many occasions before and will again. I have the route down pat, snagging a fine spot along the street to wait until the tram arrives. He texted from down below in the city when he got on board the line.
My zipzap shudders with every gust. The protective shell is rated against dings and crashes, not wind. Thick gloves cover my hands, a knitted hat keeps head and ears warm, and I hunch into my overcoat for the rest. Probably should have added a sweater to my casual work-from-home ensemble, but too late now.
This predicament is my own fault. I could’ve met Corin at a restaurant in the city or at his office, but no. Upon learning that Johanna usually works from home on Fridays and Nathan would be going to her place, I’d felt obligated to offer a similar invitation—admittedly, part due to curiosity about how Corin might behave away on my territory.
A tram whizzes up the rise along the avenue and pauses to disgorge two passengers, but I recognize neither in their winter coverings. This edge of the heights is mostly residential, with a few corner stores tucked in here and there, selling the immediate necessities. A bright green solar-sided van bearing the unmistakable logo of a local grocery chain chugs up in the tram’s wake, then turns right before the zipzap. Another gust rocks my car, and I shiver.
Then, a knock on the passenger side makes me jerk. A thoroughly bundled-up figure stands there.
A fedora covers Corin’s hair, a thick muffler wrapping over half his face, and I find myself wondering if he pads his overcoat. The extra bulk it adds put the last nail in my ability to recognize him from a distance.
He definitely seems like a creature of the city venturing into the wilds, though granted adding layers was a good idea in this wind.
I unlock the door. “Sorry—didn’t recognize you.”
“I barely recognize myself.” He shudders, and the zipzap rocks as he settles into the seat. “You didn’t have to pick me up. I’d have found my way.”
“Sure, but it’s a tricky hike.” I turn the heater up, not that it will do much good. “And the best bus line is one way. Great for getting people to the tram—not so good the other way around.”
“It’s cold enough that I appreciate the lift. Thanks.” Corin’s nostrils flare notably as he fumbles with the webbed safety harness.
Easy to guess why; no matter how much time I spend in the car, there’s no getting used to the smell. Every deep breath carries the funk of unwashed, hormonal children mixed with the artificial scents currently popular among betas and not-yet presented teenagers.
“Sorry about that.” I shrug as I help with the tricky buckle. “I do a lot of shuttling teenagers around.”
“I thought your children were grown?”
“The twins are, but not the rest.” Putting the car in gear, I whisk into the traffic and start the convoluted twists and turns that will take us to my place. The walking route is equally twisty, but a lot shorter. Despite having shocks, the zipzap rattles, and everything vibrates, up to and including teeth.
“The rest?” Corin’s head bobs as he glances my way, then stares past me as we navigate around one of the big, old Elizabeth III-era mansions that makes the route so odd. This one is a city landmark of sorts, with a tower, crenellated roof edgings, and three stories all covered in scale-shaped shingles painted in multiple shades of blue and green, set among the usual yard of clover, blackberry ramblers, and assorted flowering bushes. It’s one thing to see in pictures, yet another to view in reality, though regular exposure—such as mine—rather dulls appreciation for the monstrosity.
I let him have quiet, insofar as the rattling car allows.
The moment has finally come to explain my complicated private life. Whether or not I want it to be, this is a test of whether he’s the kind of alpha I’d be happy to pack with. I’m not worried about telling Johanna given all the other things I’ve spilled to her. The abbreviated version I shared with Nathan last night made him laugh. He said I should’ve offered it up as pack-like experience, and weren’t we the varied group with such an array of non-traditional packs.
Better to clue Corin in now, because he’ll be meeting at least one of my complications soon enough, since they live next door. Our road sits just enough back from the edge of the high glacial ridges that give the heights their name to be affordable territory, so the narrow streets are lined with duplexes and townhomes and the occasional park or corner store.
Corin coughs, interrupting my internal monologue. Perhaps an effort to hide the effects of the jittering zipzap as we whirl around a corner into more densely populated area for the heights.
Or perhaps it’s a demand. He’s an alpha out of his own territory and the lines of dominance between us aren’t yet agreed upon; it has to chafe.
“If you know about the twins, you know a little about how they came about,” I say, pushing my tongue against the roof of my mouth to keep from clenching my jaw at the roil of vinegary apple scent from Corin that briefly dispels the teenage funk.
“A relationship with your next-door neighbor, according to the investigative report Max ordered.” Corin nods, ending with a clash of teeth as we turn another corner and I don’t manage to avoid the newest pothole.
Max again, always. His tendrils are far-reaching, even in death. The thought doesn’t sting the way it did when I was young and deserved his careful arrangements to ensure I stayed far away from him and Johanna, despite attending the same university.
“More like a one-night stand. Don’t ask how it came about. It’s not just my story to tell, so I don’t.” My tales and troubles are fair game, and I share more than I’m sometimes comfortable with, but never other people’s without permission. “Plus, it’s the kind of thing you’d have to have been there to understand. Drives the twins crazy when I say that.”
Corin grunts, hands now braced against the dashboard. The fine wool gloves hide his fingers, but I’m guessing his knuckles are white. Maybe I took the turn a bit fast.
“By the twins, I mean my biological children, Deborah and Derrick,” I say. “They’re both schoolteachers, so you won’t see them today. Be properly grateful.”
He laughs and smiles, changing the whole atmosphere in the car. “The private investigator described your daughter as ‘fierce.’”
“That she is. I worried the whole latter half of her teens that she’d present as an alpha, but she’s a beta and happy with that.” Slowing, I ease around the last turn onto the circle of duplexes. Each double building shares a porch and rises one-and-a-half or two stories above.
