Page 5 of Deep Love

Though I had considered leaving the pack once. When I’d had someone I’d wanted to share a life with more than I’d wanted to be a part of a pack.

But that was before.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting off the memories threatening to flood into my mind. Today, this pack frustrated me to no end, but that didn’t mean I was ready to go completely solo. I didn’t mind being a werewolf and usually felt most comfortable in my wolf form, but whenever we encountered other wolves in town, I tried at all costs to avoid admitting I was part of the Ferguson pack. A wolf was supposed to be proud of his heritage. The more I saw of my own pack, however, the less I found to make me honored to be a member.

As I drove into town, I thought about my time in the military. Now those brothers knew how to have each other’s backs without question. I’d never had any doubts that my Army buddies would give their lives to make sure we all made it out of a situation alive. Too bad I hadn’t been able to stay in the military because I’d truly belonged there. All it had taken was one quick healing from a bullet to my back for the questions from the doctors and my commanding officers to start. I’d opened the wound three times to prolong my stay in the hospital, but that wasn’t a sustainable strategy.

So I’d played the PTSD card and pretended to be so fucked up by the bullet wound that I couldn’t perform the duties of an Army soldier anymore. Made it out with an honorable discharge, but it didn’t feel honorable to me. It felt like being a werewolf was denying me of any real happiness in the world.

That, of course, was bullshit. Being a werewolf had many perks I wouldn’t trade to be a regular human. The fact that the bullet wound I’d received hadn’t left any permanent damage was only one example. Still, it would have been nice to remain in the Army and be surrounded by competent adults who didn’t drink themselves into oblivion.

Besides, my real happiness had been stolen by other means that had nothing to do with being a werewolf.

I arrived at Moose’s Diner and parked my pickup in its usual spot near the dumpster. Sylvie would say my truck belonged in the dumpster, but I loved the old girl and she hadn’t let me down yet. She’d survived many a Vermont winter, needing nothing more than the regular oil change and new tires every once in a while.

I gave her a love tap then walked to the back door of the diner. The air smelled like barbecue sauce and fries, fragrances I preferred over the alcohol-and-body-odor stench of the Ferguson packhouse. I sniffed at my own shirt, forever hoping that stink hadn’t stuck to me. I should probably stop going to the packhouse altogether, but a part of me worried if I didn’t, my cousins would get more out of control. I was pretty sure my lectures were the only thing that reined them in a little.

Or at least made them check their behavior a bit to avoid hearing my lectures. Plus, Sylvie was stuck there at the packhouse as she tried her best to run the business end of Ferguson Construction. I had to visit if only to lend her moral support.

I pulled the diner’s back door open and stepped in to find Claude, the chef on shift before me, prepping the station for the dinner crowd. Even the staff at the diner was more supportive than my own pack.

“Thanks, man.” I shoved my keys into the front pocket of my jeans and grabbed my chef’s coat off the hook by the door.

“No problem, mon ami.” Claude rinsed a knife at the sink then wiped his hands. “It’s been slow all day so I figured I’d give you a head start.” He put his hands on his hips as he looked at me. “Which it looks like you could use. More family troubles?”

Claude didn’t know my family was comprised of werewolves, but I’d told him enough tales of my drunken and stoned cousins that he knew they were royal pains in my ass.

“Found the lot of them basically passed out from their partying last night.” I stepped up to the sink and scrubbed my hands, letting the hot water wash away some of my irritation. At least the next several hours would feel purposeful as I whipped up food for the good citizens of and visitors to Moon Valley.

“Maybe you need to let them all fail miserably,” Claude said. “Perhaps then they will learn the lesson that they need to grow up.”

“You know, Claude, that’s the point I’m at,” I said. “If they don’t care, why should I?”

“Every man for himself.”

Technically, it was every wolf for himself, but the sentiment was the same.

Claude squeezed my shoulders then gave my back a hearty pat. “Okay, chef, I’m out of here. Penelope is coming over tonight and I need time to not smell like diner food.”

“Hey, chicks like diner food, don’t they?”

“Not this chick,” Claude said. “She’s classy.”

“What’s she doing with you then?”

Claude chucked me a middle finger then removed his chef’s coat and tossed it in the laundry bin by the office. “Happy cooking, Mason.” He opened the back door and stepped out, but he came back a moment later. “I forgot to tell you that Jessica is interviewing someone for waitstaff in the office. She’s only to be interrupted if someone cuts off something important in the kitchen or a zombie invasion blows through the dining area.”

“Roger that.” I saluted him then shot a glance to the closed office door. I seriously hoped Jessica had a winner in there. The last three people she’d hired for waitstaff had turned out to be total flakes with zero common sense. The one from last week had spilled an entire tray of entrées.

On a customer.

The noise alone had been ridiculous. To then see a customer covered in chili, chicken fingers, and cheddar broccoli soup had been a disaster. When the waitress had burst into tears and run from the diner, I’d had to swoop in to clean up. Thanks to all my experience cleaning the Ferguson packhouse, I had the scene spotless in no time. A free meal certificate had been offered to the customer and he’d left with a promise that all had been forgiven.

“Are there no competent waiters out there?” Jessica had asked me after the diner had closed. She’d marched to her office then had backtracked to me. “Thanks for cleaning that up and smoothing things over, by the way. You were so good with that customer. Why aren’t there more of you that I could hire for the empty waitstaff positions?”

Who did she have in her office now? Whoever it was better have some experience in this business. Not everyone was cut out to work in food service. I didn’t know if being a chef was my calling, but I was a decent cook and I enjoyed coming up with new recipes, experimenting with different flavor combinations and ingredients. This job had turned out to be a good place to land after my discharge from the military. I hadn’t expected to still be here five years later, but I didn’t need a ton of money as a single guy in his early thirties. Just enough to keep myself afloat.

The first orders of the dinner crowd hit the kitchen so I dove into filling those. Claude had said the day had been slow, but the evening was humming and I stayed busy, flipping burgers, grilling chicken, and cooking up whatever customers ordered from the menu.

I barely noticed when Jessica’s door finally opened and she stepped out.

I dropped the knife in my hand, however, when another woman exited the office behind her.