Wow, this guy was weirdly attached to that damned thing. What I didn’t understand was why the professor had put the research tapes about me in a box that my godfather had scrawled Charlie’s name on.
“Okay, let’s leave that. I can tell you’re ready to flee if I continue talking about my box.”
Whew, there was more he had to tell me. I hoped it was more than talking lovingly about a cardboard box.
He gave me his phone, and I read the partial letter. Now I was more confused because this letter had to have been written by Charlie, and the little boy was me. Oh gods, me. Tears spilled down my cheeks because this was the first mention of me before I’d been adopted. I’d never found my birth certificate or a baby book or a letter my adoptive parents had written to me. But here I was, on the page.
I held Eira tight, but I didn’t understand why the handwriting was Rawlins’s, and I told Holden that.
“I was convinced that the professor was kind of in love with Rawlins based on what he told me. Was your godfather writing to the professor?”
Everything I thought I knew was messed up. I could understand Professor Shaw crying about Rawlins, as he’d gushed about my godfather. But they’d lost contact when Rawlins became my guardian. But had my godfather been going to mate a human and adopt me and had broken the professor’s heart? It was too much, and I told Holden to send me the pics.
I got out of the car just as Phelan and Atticus came into view. What were they doing here? They never came this way after a run. Damn them. Oh shoot, it was because of the construction.
Holden started the car and drove off, making it seem as though we’d been doing something underhanded. Phelan was fuming, making his face red. I could almost smell the anger and jealousy seeping from his pores.
He took the baby and avoided my eyes. Eira snuggled into him as he put a protective hand on her back.
I sent Atticus a look that said, “Do not say anything,” and he nodded. Huh, what was with that? Though he spoiled the moment by smirking. Knowing the way his mind worked, he was going to enjoy me and Phelan arguing.
“What was that about?” Phelan asked as he bounced Eira. He’d taken to fatherhood so naturally, and I was so proud to be his mate.
I should have sent Atticus a message that said “Get lost” because now I couldn’t reveal too much in front of him.
“It’s nothing. Holden used to be Professor Shaw’s TA.”
Atticus scoffed. “He hates humans.” He stared at me.
I swirled around. What? Why was he bringing that up? What did he know? “The professor or Holden?”
“Shaw.”
The professor wouldn’t have shared my secret with Atticus, surely.
“Hate is a strong word, Atticus.” Phelan moved closer to me and away from his friend.
“I had tea and cake with the guy, and he loathes all humans.” Again, he looked right at me. “But there are some things that have to remain hidden.”
Phelan put a hand on my shoulder, and we walked away. I glanced back at Atticus who hadn’t moved and twirled the ring on my finger.
“Don’t be annoyed with me.” I tucked my arm in Phelan’s. “Holden found something in the professor’s office and he showed me a pic. That’s all.”
I rested my head on his shoulder and told him that while I considered Holden an acquaintance at best, I didn’t want to avoid him or lie about bumping into him.
My mate sighed. “You’re right, I know you are, but when I see that guy, I want to punch him in the nose.”
“I’m glad you don’t because his tiger might take your head off.” I giggled.
“There is that.” He kissed me, and we went into the dining hall for dinner.
After Eira was in bed, I dragged out the old satchel the professor had given me when I first came to Sombertooth. It contained lots of old school notes and assignments which had provided a link to Rawlins, and I treasured them, but it was what I found secreted in the lining that had introduced me to the world of shifters. Though at the time, I’d assumed it was all fantasy. And I’d discovered the bank statements in the same place.
The phone dinged, and it was the pics Holden had taken. I studied them, and it was definitely Rawlins’s handwriting.I’d grown up with him, and he loved handwriting letters and shopping lists rather than using his phone or a computer.
I went back and forth between the contents of the satchel’s lining and the note to the professor in Holden’s photo. They were identical.
“Look at this, Phelan. Were they written by the same person?” He was working on his laptop and gave the pages and the pic a cursory glance.
