by TJ Klune
He rolled over on his back, legs in the air, body wiggling as he scratched himself on the ground. Then he fell to his side, mouth open in a ferocious yawn.
“Would it be so bad?” I whispered. “Shifting back? You can’t stay this way forever. You can’t lose yourself to your wolf. You’ll forget how to find your way home.”
He turned his head away from me.
I’d pushed enough for the day. I could always try again tomorrow. We had time.
I sat up, stretching my arms above my head.
His tail thumped on the ground.
“Okay, so where did we leave off last time? Oh. Right. So, Ox and Joe decided it was time for them to mate. Which, honestly, I try not to think about because that’s my little brother, you know? And if I do think about it, it makes me want to punch Ox in the mouth because that’s my little brother. But what the fuck do I know, right? So, Ox and Joe… well. You know. Bone. And it was weird and oh so gross, because I could feel it. Oh, shut up, I didn’t mean like that. I meant I could feel it when their mate bond formed. We all could. It was like this… this light. Burning in all of us. Mom said she’s never heard of a pack having two Alphas before, but it made sense that it happened with us because of how crazy we already are. Ox is… well. He’s Ox, right? Werewolf Jesus. And then he and Joe came out of the house, and I never want to smell that on my little brother ever again. It was like he’d rolled in spunk, and Kelly and I were gagging because what the fuck? We gave him so much shit for it. That… that was a good day.”
I glanced down at him.
He was watching me with violet eyes.
“And that’s how it ended. At least the first part. There’s still Mark and Gordo to—”
His tail twitched dangerously. His body tensed.
My hand stilled. “Why do you get like that every time I bring up Gordo? I know you’re an Omega and all and you’ve probably got evil Livingstone magic in you, but it’s not his fault. You really need to get over whatever the hell is wrong with you. Gordo’s good people. I mean, yeah, he’s a dick, but so are you. You guys have more in common than you think. Sometimes you even make the same facial expressions.”
He snapped at me.
I laughed and fell back against the grass, hands behind my head. “Fine. Be that way. We don’t have to talk about it today. There’s always tomorrow.”
We stayed there, just the two of us, until the sky began to streak with red and orange.
AS I SAT BEHIND my dead father’s desk for the last time on a cold winter morning, I wondered what he would think of me.
He told me once that difficult decisions must be made with a level head. It was the only way to make sure they were right.
The house was quiet. Everyone was gone.
My father was a proud man. A strong man. There was a time when I thought he could do no wrong, that he was absolute in his power, all knowing.
But he wasn’t.
For someone such as him, an Alpha wolf from a long line of wolves, he was terribly human in the mistakes he made, the people he’d hurt, the enemies he’d trusted.
Ox.
Joe.
Gordo.
Mark.
Richard Collins.
Osmond.
Michelle Hughes.
Robert Livingstone.
He was wrong about all of them. The things he’d done.
And yet… he was still my father.
I loved him.
If I tried hard enough, if I really tried, I could almost smell him embedded in the bones of this house, in the earth of this territory that had seen so much death.
I loved him.
But I hated him too.
I thought that was what it meant to be a son: to believe in someone so much that it caused blindness to all their faults until it didn’t. Thomas Bennett wasn’t infallible. He wasn’t perfect. I could see that now.
Days ago, I was on a ledge.
Below me was a void.
I hesitated. But I thought I’d already been falling for a long time. I just hadn’t realized it.
That final step came easier than I expected it to. I’d already prepared. Drained my bank accounts. Packed my bags. Prepared to do what I thought I had to.
Which led me to this. Now.
This moment when I knew nothing would ever be the same.
I looked at the computer monitor on the desk.
I saw a version of myself staring back, one I didn’t recognize. This Carter had dead eyes and black circles underneath them. This Carter had lost weight, his cheekbones more pronounced. This Carter had bloodless skin. This Carter knew what it meant to lose something so precious and yet was about to make things worse. This Carter had taken hit after hit after hit, and for what?
This Carter was a stranger.
And yet he was me.
My hand shook as I settled it on the mouse, knowing if I didn’t do this now, I would never do it.
And that’s the point, my father whispered. You are a wolf, but you’re still human. You give all you can, and yet you still bleed. Why would you make it worse? Why would you do this to yourself? To your pack? To him?
Him.
Because it always came back to him.
I thought it always would.
Which is why when I hit the little icon on the screen to start recording, his name was the first thing from my lips.
“Kelly, I….”
And oh, the things I could say. The sheer magnitude of everything he was to me. My mother told me when I was young that I would never forget my first love. That even when all seemed dark, when all was lost, there would be the little pulsing light of memory stored deeply away.
She’d been talking about a faceless girl.
Or boy.
She hadn’t known that I’d already met my first love.
My throat was raw.
I was so very tired.
“I love you more than anything in this world. Please remember that. I know this is going to hurt, and I’m sorry. But I have to do this.”
I looked away, unable to watch this broken man speak any more than I had to.
“You see, there was this boy. And he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. He gave me the courage to stand for what I believe in, to fight for those I care about. He taught me the strength of love and brotherhood. He made me a better person.”
I tried to smile to let him know I was okay. It stretched wide on my face, foreign and harsh, before it cracked and broke.
“You, Kelly,” I said hoarsely. “Always you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I looked out the window. There was frost on the glass. Snow was beginning to fall. “You’re my first memory. Mom was holding you, and I wanted to take you for myself, hide you away so no one would hurt you.” It was fuzzy, the edges frayed like it’d been nothing but a dream. My mother was wearing sweats, her face free of makeup. Her skin looked soft and glowing. She was speaking quietly, but her words were lost to me, a quiet murmur that disappeared at the sight of who she held.
A tiny hand reached up, the fingers opening and closing.
And there, in the recesses of my mind, I heard her speak four words that changed everything about who I was.
She said, “Look. He knows you.”
I didn’t understand then the earthquake this caused within me.
I poked his fat little cheek, marveling at the way his skin dimpled.
He blinked up at me, eyes bright and blue, blue, blue.
He made a noise. A little squawk.
And I was reborn.
“You’re my first love,” I said in this empty room, lost in the memory of how his hand had wrapped so carefully around my finger. “I knew that when you would always smile when you saw me, and it was like staring into the sun.”
I swallowed thickly, looking away from the window.
“You’re my heart,” I told him, knowing there was a chance he’d never forgive me. “You are my soul. I love Mom. She taught me kindness. I love
Dad. He taught me how to be a good wolf. I love Joe. He taught me that strength comes from within.”
My breath hitched in my chest, but I pushed through it. He needed to hear this from me. He needed to know why. “But you were my greatest teacher. Because with you I understood life. What it meant to love someone so blindingly and without reservation. To have a purpose. To have hope. I have been a big brother for most of my life, and it’s the best thing I ever could be. Without you, I would be nothing.”
It hurt to breathe. “I know you’re going to be angry. But I hope you understand, at least a little bit.” I looked back at the screen. “Because I have this hole in my chest. This void. And I know why. It’s because of him.”
Leave. With you. I’ll. Go. With you. Don’t. Don’t touch. Them.
“I have to find him, Kelly. I have to find him because I think without him, there’s always going to be part of me that feels like I’m incomplete. I should have listened to you more when Robbie was gone. I should have fought harder. I didn’t understand then. I do now, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Maybe he’ll want nothing to do with me. Maybe he’ll….”
No. Stay. Back. Don’t want. This. Don’t want. Pack. Don’t want. Brother. Don’t want. You. Child. You are. A child. I am not. Like you. I am not. Pack.
“I have to try,” I pleaded in this empty room. “And I know Ox and Joe and all the others are looking for him, for the both of them, but it’s not enough. Kelly, he saved us. I see that now. He saved us all. And I have to do the same for him. I have to.”
Blood rushed in my ears. My vision was narrowing. There was a heavy weight on my chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
I said, “I made you a promise once. I told you that I would always come back for you. I meant it then and I mean it now. I will always come back for you. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I’ll be thinking of you and imagining the day I get to see you again. I don’t know when that’s going to be, but after you kick my ass, after you scream and yell at me, please hug me like you’re never going to let me go because I won’t ever want you to.”
I tried to say more, tried to continue, but the weight was crushing me, and I bowed my head, claws digging into the surface of the desk. “Fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t—”
My shoulders shook.
I gave in to it. My eyes burned as I choked on a sob.
I had to finish this while I still could.
It already felt like it was too late. For me. For him.
For all of us.
“Remember something for me, okay? When the moon is full and bright and you’re singing for all the world to hear, I’ll be looking up at the same moon, and I’ll be singing right back to you. For you. Always you.”
I wiped my eyes. The screen was blurry, and the stranger staring back at me looked haunted and lost. “I love you, little brother, even more than I can put down in words. You’ve got to be brave for me. Keep Joe honest. Give Ox shit. Teach Rico how to be a wolf. Show Chris and Tanner the depths of your heart. Hug Mom and Mark. Tell Gordo to lighten up. Have Jessie kick anyone’s ass who steps out of line. And love Robbie like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”
And ah, god, there was still so much I had to say, so much I’d never told him, so much he needed to hear from me. That the only reason I was a good person was because of him. That our father would be proud of who he’d become. That when I’d been lost to the Omega, feeling it clawing at me, threatening to pull me down into an ocean of violet, I’d held on with all my might to the ragged remains of my tether, refusing to let it go, refusing to let it be taken from me.
I am alive because of you, I wanted to say.
But I didn’t.
I said, “I will come back for you, and nothing will hurt us ever again.”
I said, “I’ll be seeing you, okay?”
And that was it.
That was all.
A lifetime broken down into a few minutes of begging my pack to understand the terrible choice I was about to make.
I stopped the recording.
I thought about deleting it.
Just… deleting it and forgetting about all of this.
It would be so easy.
I’d delete it, and then I’d stand up. I’d leave the office. I’d sit on the steps on the porch until someone came home, and I’d tell them what I’d done and what I was about to do. Maybe it’d be Mom. She’d be smiling at the sight of me, but that smile would fade when she saw the look on my face. She’d rush forward, and I would tell her everything. That I thought I was losing my mind, that I didn’t know what Gavin was, not until it was too late. That I should have fought harder for him, that I should have told him that he couldn’t leave with Robert Livingstone, he couldn’t leave with his father, he couldn’t leave me. Not when I understood. Not when I knew now what I should have known a long time ago.
Or maybe it’d be Kelly. Maybe he’d know something was wrong.
Dust would be kicking up from the tires of his cruiser, the light bar across the top flashing, the siren wailing. He’d throw open the door, the look on his face a mixture of worry and anger.
“What are you doing?” he’d demand.
“I don’t know,” I’d reply. “I’m lost, Kelly. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what’s going on, please, please, please save me. Please tie me down so I can never leave you. Please don’t let me do this. Please don’t let me leave. Scream at me. Hit me. Destroy me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
I saved the video instead.
I stood up.
It was now or never.
Before I left the office, I looked back once.
For a moment I thought I saw my father standing behind his desk, hand stretched toward me.
I blinked.
There was nothing there.
A trick of the light.
I closed the door for the last time.
AND YET….
I hesitated on the porch, duffel bag at my feet.
I told myself it was because I was taking it in. This place. Our territory. A last few breaths of home for whatever lay ahead.
But I was a liar.
I looked down the dirt road, snow falling in flurries and clinging to the trees. No one came.
And still I waited.
One minute turned into two, turned into three, into seven.
When ten minutes had passed, I knew it was now or never. I had stalled long enough.
I picked up my bag.
Stepped off the porch.
And went to my truck.
I climbed inside and closed the door behind me.
I stared up at the house.
I imagined Kelly was with me, sitting in the passenger seat.
He said, “Hold on to me.”
He said, “As tightly as you can.”
He said, “I know it hurts.”
He said, “I know what it feels like.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I know you do.”
I sighed and reached over to my bag. I unzipped a small pocket on the side and pulled out a photograph. I touched the frozen, smiling faces of my brothers before putting it on the dashboard behind the steering wheel.
And then I left.
AS SOON AS I’D GOTTEN FAR ENOUGH AWAY, I stopped.
I gathered the last of my strength.
I found the bonds within me, bright and alive and strong.
Could I do this?
I found out I could.
It was easier than I expected, slicing through them. At least at first. It wasn’t until the end that I opened the door of the truck and vomited onto the ground, my face slick with sweat.
I gagged as the bonds faded.
My mouth was sour. I spit onto the ground.
“Kelly,” I muttered. “Kelly, Kelly, Kelly.”
It was enough.
The tether.
It was enough.
I pulled myself back up and looked into the rearview m
irror. The stranger stared back. I flashed my eyes.
Orange.
Still orange.
I closed the door.
Took a breath.
I looked at the road ahead.
There wasn’t another car for as far as I could see.
I pulled back onto the road.
A few minutes later I passed a sign telling me I was leaving Green Creek, Oregon, and to come back soon!
I would.
That was a promise.
like this/got you
It went like this:
I was born.
I didn’t remember.
I was one.
I didn’t remember.
I was two.
I didn’t remember.
And then I did.
Because my mother was there, and she was sitting in a chair. She was tired but smiling. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her skin looked soft.
She said, “Carter, would you like to meet your brother?”
He had been in her stomach. And now he was here.
My father stood in the doorway, watching us.
I didn’t remember anything else. How I’d gotten into the room. Where I’d been before. What I’d been doing. It didn’t matter. This was big.
Big big.
My father said, “Be careful.”
There was a wrinkled pink thing in my mother’s arms. It had a nose and a mouth and squinty eyes. It yawned.
“Mine?” I asked.
“Yes,” my mother said. “Yours. Ours.”
“Mine,” I said again, and I tried to take the pink thing from her. I wanted to take it away, to hide it so no one else could touch what was mine.
My father said, “No, Carter, no. You’re too little. You could hurt him.”
“No hurt,” I said. “No hurt.”
“Yes,” my mother said. “That’s right. No hurt. We don’t hurt him. We don’t hurt Kelly.”
“Kelly,” I said for the first time.
“Your brother,” my father said.
“Kelly, Kelly, Kelly.”
He looked up at me.
He reached for me.
“Mine,” I whispered.
IT WENT LIKE THIS:
There was yelling.
Gordo was yelling.
My father was yelling.