“Okay, but there's one little detail that even Sean can't take care of.”
“What's that?”
“Your mother.”
She paled slightly at my words, as though the thought of her mother showing up at the event with an Uzi full of silver bullets had never crossed her mind. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe Peyta was so blinded by love that she had overlooked the biggest hurdle of all: Ronnie.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “SHIT! How are we going to get her on board with this?”
“Is that even a possibility?” I asked unhelpfully. She pinned vicious eyes on me in response. “Hey, don't get mad at me. I'm not the one with a homicidal parent who is going to flip her shit when she hears about her only daughter getting hitched to what she thinks is an overbearing pack of werewolves.” Imagine Ronnie's surprise when that batch of silver bullets she unloaded on the crowd wouldn't have the desired effect. The PC was a cat we couldn't afford to let out of the bag. Not if we wanted Ronnie to live.
“You're not making this easier,” she grumbled.
“I'm not trying to. I'm trying to point out the obvious fact that, even though your mother seems to be blissfully in love herself now that she has Malcolm, she is going to go positively postal at the mere mention of you, a white dress, and a long walk down the aisle toward a union with what she thinks is a werewolf.”
My remark set off a waterworks show catastrophic enough to rival that of a sorority girl recently dumped by her beau du jour.
“It's never going to happen, is it?” she choked out between sobs. Her meltdown caught me completely off guard. While I scrambled to find a box of tissues, she continued, her wails only increasing in volume. “Why can't it just happen? Why do things keep getting in our way? Is it a sign? Am I not meant to be with him? Because every piece of me feels like I am.”
Seeing her in that state was so disarming. She had always been the model of calm logic when it came to serious issues―like me being a werewolf or disappearing without a trace. Why she had come completely unraveled before my eyes made no sense to me.
Until it did.
The reason was so obvious that I nearly smacked myself in the forehead. Peyta was a different person now. The old Peyta would have holed herself up in a bathroom, employing a razor to carve the dissonance right out of her body. But new Peyta—the healthier Peyta―had found ways to deal with her emotions that didn't involve harming herself, thanks to some very expensive and ongoing therapy she was receiving in Boston. Realizing the true reason for her otherwise befuddling behavior made me smile. It was inappropriate, but I couldn't help it. How could you stifle the kind of joy found in the knowledge that someone you cared about was truly getting better?
Unfortunately for me, that knowledge wasn't going to do shit to calm Peyta down. It was time for Plan B.
“Peyta, breathe, please. We'll sort this out. Maybe if we approach it the right way, she'll see some reason.”
The sobbing increased.
“Okay. What if I go talk to her? Maybe I can―I don't know―soften the news somehow? Convince her that it's the best thing for you—to have the bound protection of the 'pack' keeping you safe?”
The sobbing subsided―minutely.
“That's what I'll do,” I said, trying to bolster myself for the veritable shitstorm that would be unleashed on me the second I used the words “wedding” and “Peyta” in the same sentence. “I'll leave work early tonight and catch her while she's closing up. Maybe I'll take Cooper along, just in case she decides to kill the messenger...literally.”
The sobbing ceased.
“Would you do that?” she asked, looking far too young to be about to tether herself to an organization cloaked in death and destruction. She knew what being bonded to the PC would mean, and yet the only thing she seemed to be afraid of was her mother's reaction to the news.
And everyone said I was the one without survival instincts.
“For you, I would. But I'm going to need you to borrow one of your mother's Kevlar jackets for me first. Never can be too careful when it comes to Ronnie.”
A giggle escaped the bride-to-be.
“So true,” she replied with a sniffle, dragging the sleeves of her shirt across her cheeks to dry them. She was a puffy-faced mess with mascara smeared everywhere.
“C'mon,” I started, plucking her up off of the floor. “You're a disaster. We need to get you cleaned up before we can open. Can't have you scaring the customers away; I have a pack of wolves to feed. You have no idea what those guys are doing to my trust fund.”
A laugh.
“Okay,” she replied with a chuckle as I ushered her toward the back workroom and the attached half bath. “I wondered how you were able to pay for all of them. I saw your pantry the last time I was over. I think you might belong on an episode of Doomsday Preppers.”
“Glad to see you haven't lost your snarkiness even in light of the impending chaos your mother is certain to cause.”
Peyta shrugged as she opened the door to the half bath.
Her words lost all sense of joviality.
“Humor seems to work well for you. If it could get you through all that you have faced, surely it can help me deal. It seems to be working. That and crying hysterically on occasion.”
“Yeah...there's that too,” I agreed with a wan smile.
Peyta and I may not have been born of the same parents, but we were alike in so many ways. I was immensely grateful that we had found each other. Every once in a while, the Universe got it right.
* * *
Though my bank account wasn't going to be pleased with how the morning went, I was happy to see a fraction of the giddy bride-to-be back and flitting around the showroom. Peyta was highly productive when happy. She had everything organized, dusted, and displayed beautifully in about an hour.
We were low on inventory because it seemed virtually impossible to create jewelry while the very act of staying alive kept pushing its way to the top of my priority list. With that in mind, I sent Peyta to the back to work on her pieces. She loved the work, and I just didn't have the creativity in me to do it lately, so it seemed a fortuitous solution.
She disappeared with a muffled squeal, leaving me to the emptiness of the shop. I didn't mind, really. It gave me a little time to sit and account for all the clusterfucks in my life. I knew the list was bound to be impressive.
Retrieving a pen and notepad from under the counter, I sat on the stool and stared down at the clean piece of paper in front of me, realizing that, in minutes, it would look like a crazy person had doodled all over it. Maybe crazy wasn't as far from the truth as I'd have liked.
I started to scribble down my random concerns and questions in no particular order, connecting related issues with arrows, lines, and big, ominous-looking circles. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't register the jingling of the entrance bells until a moment or two after they had chimed. When I snapped my attention up to greet the customer, I instead found a familiar face smiling at me. She held forth an offering encased in a brown bag, which undoubtedly held some deliciousness I would quickly devour.
“Ginger!” I cried, jumping off my seat while I tucked my notebook of insanity under the counter. “It's been awhile! I'm so glad you stopped by...and not just because you brought me food.”
“Now don't be greedy, Ruby. Some of those are for Peyta too. I know you have her stashed around here somewhere, working her tiny little fingers to the bone.”
“Ah, you know me so well.”
“That I do, my dear girl. That I do.”
Her words stopped me short of her for a second or two, just long enough to create an air of awkwardness around us. There was something in what she said or how she said it that sent the tiniest chill up my spine. I didn't like that feeling. I liked it less when it happened on Ginger's watch.
Clearly sensing my hesitation, she smiled apologetically and gently placed the bag of goodies into my hand.
“I sounded a bit
too much like Gavin just now for your liking, didn't I?” she asked as though I had announced my concern to her unknowingly. Maybe I had.
“Yep. Kinda.”
“I'm sorry, Ruby. I truly am. It's just that I worry about you—we worry about you. But I didn't mean to torment you with such a vague comment. I meant nothing by it other than I know your heart, girl. You're a sweet soul. I just don't want to see that lost due to your...way of life.”
“Yes, well, I shall do my best,” I replied with a tight smile. The two of us stood silently for a moment, both still holding onto the top of the innocuous brown paper bag. The last time I had seen Ginger, she had said something in passing that she should not have, and she had left in a flustered state as a result, apologizing profusely for her mistake. At the time, I had been so focused on what she had told me―that some supernatural group had been entirely eradicated―that I had never really thought much about how that information had come to light. Ginger was far from slow. In fact, she was sharp as a tack, though one may not have expected that, given her aged and weathered appearance. That façade served her well, though. Maybe too well. Maybe Ginger was far less of an innocent bystander in her husband's games and machinations than I had ever thought possible.
Maybe I just hadn't wanted to think it possible at all.
“Ruby?” Ginger called to me, concern bleeding into her expression. “Is everything all right?” Her eyes fell to the bag that both joined and separated us.
“I'm not sure,” I said, my voice controlled in an eerie way.
“I really didn't mean to upset you,” she repeated, looking sheepish. I felt her embarrassment course through her and into me; I knew she wasn't lying. Somehow, that wasn't as comforting as it should have been.
“Just like you didn't mean to tell me what you told me the last time you were here?” The interrogatory tone of my voice was surprising, even to my own ears. Ginger looked like my accusation had slapped her in the face.
“That was an honest mistake, Ruby,” she said in her defense. “It is not easy being the mediator between you and Gavin.”
“Did he send you that night?” I pressed, forgetting what a kind and loving presence Ginger had always proven to be in my life. Instead, in that moment, I treated her like I would have anyone or anything that potentially posed a threat. I treated her like the enemy. “Is that why you came here? To soften me up for him since he does a shit job of it himself?”
Her surprised and wounded expression slowly hardened to that of a person being accused―wrongly accused―of something. The set of her brow was shockingly menacing when she stepped her tiny frame toward me. I nearly took a step back in retreat.
“I said what I said that night because I am not infallible. There are things that I want desperately to tell you but cannot. Remembering those secrets and keeping them locked away is far from easy when the person I'm keeping them from is important to me...someone I love. I shared what I did with you unintentionally. If you want to read into that, you do as you see fit, but remember to be careful whom you accuse so carelessly, my dear. The bridges you burn will not easily be rebuilt.”
“I—I'm sorry, Ginger,” I stammered in apology. “I was out of line. I don't know why I said that.”
I let go of the bag, releasing the tension between us ever so slightly. Thinking clearly had never been my strong suit, historically speaking, but randomly accusing Ginger of insidious behavior was low, even for me. It was as if I was so on edge that I was trying to find danger where there was none. Betrayal in those who had not.
Her rigid stance softened at my words, and she stepped toward me, placing her hand gently on my forearm in an attempt to get me to raise my eyes to hers. I was too embarrassed to comply.
“Ruby, I know that you have not had an easy go of things. I also know that you have, in all that turmoil, found individuals who love you and want to keep you safe. Do not exclude me from that list—me or Gavin.” I looked up to see her smiling tentatively at me, extending the bag toward me yet again. This time I took it without pause. “We are not the enemy. We never have been, and we never will be. Whatever you think of my husband, please know that he does what he does with purpose, misdirected though his efforts may seem.” Rolling up onto her tiptoes, she kissed me gently on the cheek before patting it lovingly. “Be well, my dear girl. And remember what I've told you.” She turned to leave, stopping as she stepped through the doorway. “Tell Peyta hello for me, please. I'll be sure to ask her later if you shared those cookies with her.”
With a wink, she was gone.
I exhaled heavily while making my way back to the clusterfuck list under the counter. It seemed that I needed to squeeze my complete lack of couth somewhere onto the page. Why I had decided to go at Ginger like that was beyond me. It had seemed logical at the time, but with a little distance, it really wasn't. My irritation and mistrust of Gavin was so all-consuming that I was allowing it to taint everything and everyone associated with him.
In that moment, it became abundantly clear to me that Gavin and I were in need of a serious sit-down. One that involved me not leaving until I got the answers I needed. If Ginger was so convinced that he was looking out for my best interests, I was going to need a little show of good faith from him, and not in the form of another riddle. That cagey bastard was going to give me something solid to go on or I was going to unleash Scarlet on him, if she was feeling compliant, and let her sort him out.
Something told me she might be willing to come out of her seclusion for that particular task.
Chapter 3
By the time lunch rolled around, I had eaten more than a dozen guilt-laden cookies and still had not shared any with my jewelry-making minion. Giving them to Peyta meant rehashing my earlier stupidity; she could always tell when I wasn't giving her the full story. I didn't have it in me, so I took one for the team and attempted to eat the whole bag of baked goods on my own―a challenge I would have gladly accepted under normal circumstances.
“Ruby,” Peyta called from the back room. “I just talked to Jay. He's in town. He's going to meet me down the street for lunch. Do you mind?”
“No, that sounds great, P,” I replied, scrambling to hide the bag of cookies while she emerged through the door behind me. “Tell him I said hi.”
She eyed the evidence in my hand before she turned her gaze up to me.
“What's in the bag?”
“Nothing,” I said, my eyes reflexively darting to the crumbs scattered about the counter. Peyta's followed.
“Nothing my ass! You were going to eat all of those without sharing!” The look of mock disgust on her face was plain. “You are such a fatty!”
“Take them away from me before I gain five pounds. I have a dance audition coming up. I can't afford any extra weight.” I tossed her the bag with a flick of my wrist. “Give them to Jay. I highly doubt his thighs are in jeopardy of blowing up overnight,” I kidded, hoping to deflect any further interrogations regarding the cookies.
“You're on goodies and treats probation. I'm telling Ginger not to bring you anything anymore since it's abundantly clear that you never learned to share,” she informed me, shoving an entire chocolate chip cookie in her mouth at once.
“Yes, yes...I'm a gluttonous shit. I get it,” I confessed, ushering her and her overstuffed mouth toward the entrance. “Try not to choke on your cookie or your judgment on your way to the restaurant.”
She laughed, which nearly caused her to do just that as she exited the shop. For once, my acting skills were passable. She didn't seem to think anything was off with me. Maybe she was just preoccupied with the notion of having lunch with her husband-to-be. Either way, my day was made easier.
And when Sean walked through the door not long after Peyta left, it was made better still.
“Ruby,” he called, demanding my attention the second he walked in..
“Hey! I thought you weren't going to be back until tomorrow morning. What are you doing here?”
He stopped s
hort of me, making a show of how affronted he was by my question.
“Do I need a reason?”
“Well, no, but―”
“Then why are we discussing this when what we should be doing is greeting one another in a scandalous way?”
“Point made,” I replied, jumping out of my seat to climb him monkey-style and stare into his eyes.
“You're still not kissing me,” he warned playfully.
“You first.”
“You know I don't take orders well.”
“And you know I don't follow them for shit, so...”
With an exhausted sigh, he grabbed my hair, winding his hand in it as he had so many times before, and pulled my face to his, kissing me with a fierceness I wasn't fully prepared for. He really had missed me.
“Well hello to you too,” I laughed, leaning away from him just enough to see his vibrant green eyes staring back at me.
“I missed you.”
“I see that.”
“I brought lunch.”
“I love lunch.”
He gave me his trademark smile.
“Then we should eat it.”
He placed a bag of food and coffee that I hadn't noticed him carrying upon the counter and made his way to the back room for a chair. He reappeared with one and sat it down next to mine. While I climbed back onto mine, he watched, a smile still on his face, though it had saddened slightly. I looked up at him, wondering what was going on in that beautiful mind of his, but I knew enough not to ask. That question was rarely met with an answer.
As the silence stretched on, his hand lifted slowly, his fingertip brushing across my neck. He continued that motion, drawing a horizontal line across my throat repeatedly. He did that a lot after what had happened with Tobias. Sometimes he didn't even seem aware that he was doing it.
“I love you, Ruby,” he said softly, his hand lowering. If I hadn't known better, I would have said he looked mildly embarrassed by his actions, but Sean didn't do embarrassed. Shame was the emotion I felt emanating from him. Watching me sacrifice myself for the greater good that night had taken a toll on him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Wherever it was that he stuffed his demons was where that memory was tucked away. Along with the emotions that went accompanied it.
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