Pop shook his head. “Bodie had a lot of friends, many of whom we never met.”
I cleared my throat because the last thing I wanted to do was cause my folks more pain. “Ummm, his reaction wasn’t favorable, so I doubt they were friends.”
Pop put a hand over Dad’s, and they shared a glance. Perhaps I’d made a mistake bringing up my brother.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I took a deep breath and launched into how we loved Bodie no matter what, as we should have. We were family. But not everyone liked him.
“Whatever happened between them, it wasn't good.”
Pop squeezed Dad’s hand. “I wish we could help, but Bodie kept things from us. You know that.”
“True.” Bodie had been open about his dreams and opinions on everything from hockey strategy to which pizza topping was the best. But the private parts of his life, he'd kept those to himself.
I asked permission to go to his room, not that I needed to, but it was a sanctuary where Dad often spent an hour just sitting with his memories and sadness.
I climbed the stairs and walked to Bodie's bedroom door at the end of the hallway. I didn’t go in straight away and recalled all the times I’d been in there growing up. It’d been a place of light and noise, and now time had moved on, but the room never did.
Dad couldn't bring himself to touch it, and Pop wouldn't push him. The bed was still made with the same duvet. Posters of hockey players covered one wall, and one shelf held Bodie’s trophies. His scent no longer filled the space, even though it looked as though he'd be back any minute.
My wolf whimpered as he always did when we came in here.
I know it’s hard. But we have to try and remember the good times.
You should take your own advice.
I was getting better at it.
I sat on the edge of the bed and welcomed the memories of Bodie throwing a tennis ball at the wall and catching it while he spoke of our future in professional hockey.He’d been the one to sneak in the window after curfew, and he’d shifted for the first time ina spot in the garden I could see from where I sat.His wolf was smaller than mine, but like Bodie, he was fearless.
I opened his desk drawers and flicked through the notebooks filled with his drawings, plans, and homework assignments. The closet and the boxes under the bed didn’t reveal any mention of Thorne. I even searched his jacket pockets.
But I did find his bright pink stuffed flamingo and his favorite book. We’d both been given a flamingo when we were babies. Originally they looked the same, but not anymore. It had a wonky right eye that Pop had resewn more than once. My brother adored the toy, and I held it to my face, reveling in the very faint scent of him.
The next thirty-six hours were uneventful. I asked my parents if I could take the flamingo, and they agreed, though Dad insisted on taking a photo with it. He hugged me long and hard which he’d done since my brother's death, fearing I wouldn’t come back.
“Be careful.”
On the drive back, the flamingo sat on the passenger seat.
“I wish you could tell me your secrets and my brother’s.”
Whatever Bodie had done to Thorne, I'd hear him out. I owed my brother that, even if the answer was something I didn't want to hear. And I owed Thorne the patience to tell me when he was ready.
But I owed a debt to my wolf who'd come alive after seven years and to whom I was refusing the one thing that would make him and me happy.
