Prickly Business

by Piper Vaughn

  “You said she left her phone. Do you mind if I take it? She probably has selfies on there, right?”

  Mr. Otis blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  “Pictures of herself.” Avery waved a hand. “Never mind, I’ll go check. Is it in her room?”

  “Yes, on the nightstand. I’ve kept it charged, just in case. I thought the police would keep it for evidence when I reported her missing, but they said there was no reason to. No signs of foul play or that she hadn’t left on her own. But the officer did take it for a while. He said something about saving her information on a card.”

  “Probably a SIM card.” Avery grabbed the picture. “I’ll be right back.”

  He returned the frame to its position on Lacey’s dresser and found her phone. He collected both the cell and the charger, then paused when he spotted a pink purse on the floor. Bending down, he rifled through the contents. Makeup, tissue, gum, pens, tampons, and—there, a small matching wallet.

  A quick peek inside revealed Lacey’s license, and behind that, an impressive fake ID that listed her birth year as four years earlier. So, she was only eighteen and sneaking into clubs by pretending to be twenty-two. Avery wasn’t surprised she’d been successful. She looked older, and the fact that she was beautiful doubtless eased her path. He grabbed the fake ID and slipped it into his pocket before rejoining Mr. Otis in the kitchen.

  Avery held up the phone. “I’m going to borrow this, okay? I promise I’ll take care of it.”

  Mr. Otis looked dubious for a second. Then the expression cleared, and he nodded. “I’m willing to try anything that’ll help me find her. No one’s taking me seriously. Lacey would’ve never gone without her things.”

  “I believe you.” Avery reached out and laid a hand over Mr. Otis’s where it rested on the table. He felt as surprised by the gesture as Mr. Otis appeared to be. Avery quickly broke the contact, unsure what had compelled him to start it in the first place. Flustered, he gathered up his plate and fork and carried them to the sink. He quickly washed the dishes and set them in the drying rack. “Um, I’d better get going. I have a few deliveries left.”

  “Best be on your way, then.” Mr. Otis pushed his plate aside and went back to his pill sorting.

  Grabbing the empty tote bag, Avery tossed Lacey’s phone and charger inside. “I’ll see you Monday. Earlier if I have any news.”

  “Sure.” Avery was halfway out of the kitchen when Mr. Otis’s voice stopped him. “And, Avery? Thank you.”

  Avery flushed and ducked his head, grateful Mr. Otis couldn’t see him. “No problem.”

  He left the house feeling puzzled. He didn’t know why the sadness of this wolf called to him. Maybe his father’s prejudices had colored his own views, but in the past, Avery had never borne much sympathy for wolves, with the exception of Jaden. He found many of them as crass and uncouth as his father did. The Avery of before wouldn’t have cared at all about some old wolf’s problems. So why did he feel this compulsion to help Mr. Otis, to try to ease some of the man’s obvious pain?

  Avery couldn’t say. Maybe, like the Grinch, his heart had grown a few sizes in the wake of Dylan helping him when his parents cut him off. All Avery knew was he had to try something, and he had nothing to lose. Going to Howl wasn’t a chore. If nothing else, it would be a fun night out. After the month he’d had, he was definitely due.

  “EARTH TO Dylweed. Come in, Dylweed.” Kirk’s heavy chuckle bounced around the shop.

  Distantly Dylan heard the words. He’d spaced again. It had happened a lot in the past few days. Avery’s kiss had knocked him for a loop.

  “Houston, we have a problem,” one of the other guys squawked from the lift next to him.

  He felt the lopsided grin plastered on his face, so he turned back to the Flathead. She was almost ready for body work. He had the new fork to install and a fender on order. Then the real fun could begin. A flutter built in his stomach. Anticipation. He loved this part. It’s why he’d fallen in love with this line of work. There was nothing quite like customizing a bike—the construction, the inner workings, the paint job. It was art, and he was the artist.

  Dylan owned three running bikes—a Fatboy Lo, a Chieftain, and a Softail with ape hangers. The Flathead, though, would be his pride and joy. No intricate designs for her body. Dylan was going with retro to match her look, her feel. She was a beauty, and she went far beyond plain. He was thinking olive green with mahogany accents. Sure, he could blow out flames on the tank and color her purple, but his Flathead—she was a class act, and Dylan intended to showcase it.

  “Boss man, what’s up with you?” Sawyer eyed him from the opposite side of the Harley. “Didja finally take that dancer up on his offer?” The question came out as playful, so Dylan was probably the only one who heard the growl—a warning?—beneath the intent.

  A round of snickers echoed around the metal room. Dylan lifted an eyebrow at Sawyer.

  “No,” he answered flat and resolute. His first thought was to tease back, but he wouldn’t do that to his friend. Not when the usually stoic, unflappable Sawyer had found something to fight for. Or growl over, as this case may be.

  With a curt nod and indiscernible expression, Sawyer walked away.

  Huh.

  When Lucas walked up, Dylan had to hold back a huff of frustration. With his signature asshole smirk that made him look like both the boy next door and a dickhead, Lucas said, “Seriously, dude, what’s going on? You’ve been traipsing around here for a week with that goofy grin on your face.”

  “I don’t traipse,” Dylan grumbled, but bent his head low, pretending to work through a wiring problem, in hopes that Lucas had missed the grin stretching across his face. Fuck. What was up with him? The answer came quickly.

  Avery.

  Lucas continued as if Dylan hadn’t said anything. “Half the time your head’s in the clouds, and the other half you’re concentrating so hard you completely zone out.”

  Dylan shook his head. What could he say? He hadn’t seen Avery in nearly a week, hadn’t heard from him, but he still couldn’t get the bratty hedgehog out of his head. Morning, noon, and night, he was there in Dylan’s head, taunting him with sweet smiles and tempting kisses.

  Part of him wanted to growl at the frustration of connecting with his mate so thoroughly. He blamed Lucas. It had to be his fault. Why else would Dylan have asked Avery out so spur-of-the-moment if not for Lucas’s not-so-subtle prodding? Maybe the whole thing had been Dylan trying to prove to himself and to the world that mates weren’t the be-all and end-all. That no matter fate’s plan to bring two souls together in perfect harmony (or some such bullshit), not every soul had a perfect match out there. Maybe it was a way of proving to himself that Avery was exactly what Dylan thought he’d always been—spoiled, hopeless, and self-serving.

  Oh, how wrong he’d been.

  Another part of him—a much larger part—was lost. Everything he’d once thought about mating, about Avery, about himself… all those preconceived and judgmental notions had shattered at his feet. And left behind was this man, the man who had once spurned all things connected to mate bonds, now wondering if maybe he was wrong. Wondering if maybe the one mating he’d measured all others against—his parents—had actually been destined to fail from the beginning, or if it happened because of bad decisions. But why? That still didn’t make sense. Had fate devised a life of heartache for his parents, or had they created it for themselves?

  “D?” Lucas’s concerned tone pulled Dylan away from those thoughts. He really should let his friend wait it out awhile longer. No sense in telling him he was right and giving him a big head this early in the game.

  Dylan opened his mouth to respond, a caustic reply on the tip of his tongue, when his phone rang.

  Saved by the bell, my friend.

  He looked away from Lucas and to his phone as he pulled it from his back pocket.

  “Hey, Mom,” he answered.

  “Hi, baby boy. You’re still coming for lunch?”
His mother’s warm voice washed over him, even as a tinny echo through the phone. She always had that soothing power about her.

  “Sure am.” He checked the wall clock. He had an hour to get finished up and to his parents’ house. “Be there around noon.”

  “Okay, then. Will you be bringing any of the boys?”

  “They’re not boys. And not today. I thought it could be just us. We can catch up, and you can tell me about your new quilt.”

  Betty Green was a master quilter. She’d hand-sewn quilts since Dylan was a baby, probably before. At first, it had been so she had something to do at home all day, since she wasn’t allowed to work outside the home. Then it became more. Dylan grinned to himself. He guessed in some ways Lucas was right. Betty was strong and brilliant. She’d built her hobby into a lucrative business she ran from home. Orders came in weekly. Some quilts she sold to members of the pack. Others, she gave away to those who couldn’t afford them. She even had her own Etsy shop online: Wolfland Quilts.

  She’d taken Lawrence’s refusal to let her pursue a career outside homemaking and made a life for herself separate from him. She was Dylan’s hero in so many ways.

  “Oh…. Well….” Betty hesitated. “Um, if I’d known….”

  “If you’d known what?” The question came out measured, but Dylan knew what was coming. And he knew he wouldn’t like it.

  “Well, your… your father will be here.”

  Dylan hated the uncertainty in her voice. He wished there was something he could do to take it away. He didn’t particularly care to see his father, but he wouldn’t miss a chance to check in on his mother because of that jerk. Plus, pushing the old man’s buttons and seeing that vein bulge in his forehead was one of his favorite pastimes.

  With a lightheartedness he didn’t feel, Dylan said, “That’s fine. I’ll be there with bells on. You’re still making burgers?” Hers were the best.

  “Yes, dear.” She brightened. “And you tell those boys, next time they’re welcome to visit too.”

  “Not boys,” he repeated.

  “You’re all my boys. Always will be.” She cleared her throat. “Now. I need to go if I’m going to get this food finished on time.”

  By the time he disconnected, Lucas was off working on a pack member’s bike and throwing questioning glances Dylan’s way. Better for both of them that he didn’t ask, Dylan supposed. He didn’t have any answers. At least none that made sense.

  “MOM! I’M here!” Even though Dylan no longer lived with his parents—and hadn’t for a decade—it wasn’t often that he knocked on the door. Well, it wasn’t ever, really, much to his father’s consternation.

  “In the kitchen,” Dylan heard his mother call from the back of the house.

  The Green family home wasn’t much by many people’s standards—and that had him wondering what Avery would think about it—but to Dylan it was part of his childhood. His mother had made the small Craftsman a home, long before he’d known there was a difference between a house and a home. It exuded warmth and welcome, much like Betty herself. “There you are.” Betty hurried over to him when he entered the room. Gathering Dylan in her arms, she gave him a tight squeeze, then held him at arm’s length. “Oh, honey, you’re not eating enough. Look at you.” She pinched his cheeks like she used to do when he was five, just like she still did every time she saw him. “You need someone to take care of you.”

  Empathy. That’s the look that shone on Betty’s face as she stared into his eyes, and for a moment, Dylan felt the stir of laughter in his chest. For some reason, the image of Avery cooking for him popped into his head. He didn’t know why it was so funny, except he couldn’t see Avery cooking for himself much less anyone else. Suddenly he wanted to ask Avery if he even knew how to cook.

  “What’s so funny?” Betty moved back to the stovetop to take up the burgers and add cheese, then looked at him over her shoulder.

  He hadn’t realized he’d laughed out loud.

  “It’s the look on your face, son. Dreamy and happy.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes.

  “It’s nothing, Mom. Just a good day.” A good week really. Except for the fact he hadn’t heard from nor seen Avery.

  Betty grunted and shot him a perceptive look. She turned back to take up the fries and the buns from the warmer. “Your father isn’t home yet. You’ve got about fifteen minutes.” She spoke conversationally. Sweet and unassuming. “Talk.”

  Sighing, Dylan plopped down at the scarred cherry table. There was no sense in avoiding her inquiry. She’d get what she wanted out of him eventually. He’d learned a long time ago that it was easier to give in.

  “Do you…? I know that mates, they’re supposed to be….” Tripping over his words was not how he planned on having this conversation. Not that he’d actually planned on this conversation. He hadn’t planned it at all.

  He noticed when his mother stilled and took a deep breath, but then she gathered a platter and moved to the table. “Go ahead,” she encouraged with a wavering smile.

  Dylan caught her hand before she could walk away. She was constantly in motion.

  “Do you ever regret it?” He kept his voice low, steady.

  Her eyes softened when she turned them on him. “Oh honey, no.” She sat down in the chair next to him and gathered his other hand in hers.

  “But—”

  “Wait. Let me finish.” She inhaled, and Dylan thought she was using the seconds to gather her thoughts. His mother was nothing if not eloquent, which made her hesitation all the more disturbing. “Your father and I… we’re not perfect. We were young when we met. Things were different back then. My mother and father were thrilled to have me mated to such an upstanding member of the pack, and I had stars in my eyes.”

  Dylan withdrew his hands and sat back. “Yeah, but he’s such an ass. To you. I don’t even care that he’s a dick to me, but to you?”

  “Language, Dylan,” she scolded with a swat to his arm. “And your father is not that bad. We just…. He and I are so much alike. Strong personalities.” She shrugged. “We’ve spent a lot of our time together butting heads, but I’ll be honest. We’ve always been better friends.”

  And that’s what Dylan was afraid of.

  “Your father and I love each other, and as much as we’re the same, we also disagree about many things. He’s not perfect. And yes, he’s an… ass.” She whispered and giggled behind her hand. Well, at least he and his mom agreed about one thing. “But I’m not perfect either.” And on that they’d have to disagree.

  Their mating—it was exactly what Dylan feared. Doomed. “So this ridiculousness of mates being two halves of a whole? It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

  “Dylan,” she chided with less heat. “A mate is the most precious gift we are given. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to ever find our mates.” She gave him a pitying look and sighed before standing and turning back to the counter to gather the rest of the cooling food. “Your dad and I—we should have taken things slower, gotten to know each other.” She returned to the table and arranged the platters of food alongside the place settings. “We jumped into it. We had no chance to learn about each other. He….” Anger flashed in her brown eyes, so much like Dylan’s. “Some things, you should know before you jump into a relationship.”

  Dylan exhaled. He was no closer to understanding the intricacies of mating and their purpose.

  “Have you found him? Have you found your mate?” Betty’s hand trembled as she covered her mouth, a happy and shocked expression on her face.

  “I—”

  The front door banged open and Law’s gruff voice reverberated throughout the house. “I sure hope you got those burgers ready. I’m starving.”

  When his dad rounded the corner and caught sight of Dylan, a brief sneer flitted over his face. “Dylan.” He nodded, then sat down. Lawrence proceeded to stack his plate with food and dove in. Gone was the fit pride and joy of PPB’s Central Precinct. Lawrence, once lean and badass, had let himself
go after his retirement. Which was hard to do for a wolf. Wolves were active animals, and as shifters they ran hot anyway, usually burning off excess calories easily. The spare tire around Law’s middle spoke to his complete and total laziness and lack of motivation.

  “Tea?” Betty directed her question at Lawrence, who grunted. At the counter, she busied herself pouring drinks and filling the uncomfortable silence with chatter. “Did you hear about Aimee—Mrs. Pickett’s granddaughter? She’s pregnant.” She beamed over her shoulder at Dylan.

  “No,” he said honestly, taking a bite of his burger. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “Well, she is.”

  “How’s Malik handling it?”

  Lawrence grunted from across the table, but Dylan ignored it. He wasn’t going to address his father’s prejudices today and for sure not in front of his mother.

  “Well….” She made her way back to the table, three glasses balanced between her hands, then distributed them with the grace of a waitress thirty years her junior. “As Molly tells it, Malik was shocked at first—they’ve only been mated for two months, you know—but he’s coming around.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan raised his glass to her and took a sip. Yum. She made the best sweet tea—not too sweet, not too bitter. Then he chuckled. “I’ll just bet Malik is coming around. Can you imagine him with pups?”

  Poor Malik. Dylan couldn’t quite bring himself to feel that sorry for the guy. He was a twenty-year-old pain in the ass who’d made it his life’s calling to annoy the ever-loving hell out of Dylan every time they were in the same vicinity. Dylan grinned to himself while taking another bite. Payback would be a bitch for Malik, and Dylan looked forward to watching the rug rat give his dad hell.

  Betty’s laughter was infectious. Dylan was pretty sure she was thinking the same thing. “Molly also said that Winnie and Faye saw Jaden’s friend coming out of Mr. Berry’s place.”

  Dylan dipped a fry in his ketchup and tried not to acknowledge the fact that he knew exactly whom she was talking about. With his father there, it couldn’t end well.