The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan

by Michaela Wright

  Just as Deacon began to protest a second time, the doors to the clinic opened with a soft hiss and Maggie appeared in the doorway, walking her injured father inside. Sandy saw the man and lost all interest in Deacon.

  “Mr. Talbot! How did you get out of your bed? You’re in no state, sir. Come on, here. Let’s get him back to bed.”

  Sandy produced a wheelchair with startling speed, and Maggie disappeared down the hallway with her father, her mother in tow just behind.

  Deacon stood there a moment, the familiar smell of clinical antibacterial surrounding him. He was frozen to the spot. He couldn’t leave until he saw Maggie, but he couldn’t barge into her father’s room and encroach upon their time together. He had no place there. He’d only so much as slept with her once, he had no right to demand her nearness now.

  “Is everyone here?”

  Deacon turned to find Paul Talbot standing in the front doors of the clinic, his young son just behind him. Making their way toward the building, Deacon spotted several of the Talbots just outside. Richard White Eagle’s son, Robert, rushed through the doors and took off down the hall just as John appeared from the bathroom. Despite several washes, his hands were still stained with blood. Deacon hadn’t even thought to wash it off yet.

  Maggie had distracted him from all other thought.

  “You alright, Deac?”

  Deacon startled, realizing he’d been standing there with John for five minutes in silence. Deacon nodded, slowly.

  Was he alright?

  “I think so.”

  “Hey, she’s ok. We’re all ok.”

  We’re all ok. These words settled in like a tired head on a feather pillow. Gramps was ok, too. He hadn’t been forced to fight a stronger, younger bear; he hadn’t given himself in place of Maggie. Deacon remembered the moments when Maggie shifted again, seeing her become what she was, hearing the roars that could come from her throat, the fury she fought with. He’d been in awe. Yet in the wake of that awe was the memory of watching her hurt, watching her fall at the hands of two bears, and the desperate need to throw himself in the way.

  Had Maggie’s mother not come when she did, Deacon would have wedged a rift between the Fenns and the Talbots forever.

  It would have been worth it.

  “Come on, man. Let’s get you something to wear. Look like you’re modeling for a god damn firemen’s calendar.”

  Deacon laughed, glancing down at himself. He had the build of a bear, but covered in bandages and god knows whose blood, Deacon wasn’t feeling too sexy.

  “No, that’s Kirk. I’m posing for the medical personnel calendar.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a real thing. Put a shirt on, dick.”

  Deacon laughed, taking the hooded sweatshirt his brother offered and pulling it over his head with care. He might be a bear, but a bite through the shoulder hurts like a bitch.

  “Deacon?”

  He startled around, gob smacked at the sight of Maggie. She’d been naked when she left the clearing. Now she was dressed in hospital gown and pants. The hospital blue looked strangely beautiful against her tan skin.

  Deacon surged toward her, stopping himself before he drew close enough to touch her. The last time he laid a hand on her, they’d been making love – or ravaging each other, more like. Now, he wanted to collect her in his arms and protect her from the world. These thoughts seemed strange after seeing with his own eyes just how capable she was of protecting herself.

  They stood there in a strange dance, both silent and awkwardly eyeing parts of the room, as though looking at each other might burn. Deacon glanced down at her feet, catching sight of a dark patch seeping through the fabric of her pants.

  “Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.”

  She startled, glancing down in almost embarrassment. She moved the hospital johnny, pulling it over the dark patch to hide it from view.

  “How bad is it?” Deacon asked, reaching for her.

  She shirked away from him, pushing his hands as she stepped back. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You’ve done enough, Deacon. Please.”

  “Damn it, Mag! Let me look at you.”

  He took her by the arms and pulled her gently, leading her into a small alcove that led to the nurses’ break room. He turned her back to the wall, dropped to his knees, and pulled the elastic of her pants away from her waist to see the wound. The claw marks were raw and jagged, but they weren’t too deep. The massive purple bruise that was forming around them was nothing to be trifled with.

  “Ah shit, honey. Is it super sore?”

  Maggie frowned, finally meeting his gaze as she nodded. It hurts a little when I walk – and sitting down is fucking impossible, but -”

  “Let me get you some Tylenol or – I’ll find you something -”

  “Deacon, no. Wait.”

  She reached for him, taking hold of his wrist before he could leave her there. Deacon let her pull him back, standing over her there in the quiet hallway of the medical center. The desire to collect her in his arms was only amplified now in that quiet space. He was sure she could feel it.

  “I am going to stay with my dad for a while.”

  Deacon nodded. “Of course. Of course. Do you want me to stay?”

  Maggie looked up into his eyes and didn’t speak. He felt vulnerable suddenly. He swallowed.

  Finally, she shook her head. “No. You go home, alright?”

  Deacon frowned. This request hurt, somehow.

  She touched her hand to his chest. “Shower. Sleep for hours and hours, ok?”

  “I don’t want to just leave you here,” he said, and his tone betrayed more disappointment than he ever intended.

  You sound like a whiny, needy asshole, Deacon. For fuck’s sake, she’s gonna look at you like Carissa did.

  Maggie smiled, reaching up to tuck a piece of Deacon’s hair behind his ear. “I’ll come see you when I’m free, alright?”

  Deacon took a deep breath. He nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

  She tried to stand on her tip toes, wincing when the act caused her pain. That hip was more painful than she would let on, clearly. He leaned down to her instead, letting her kiss him on the cheek before she made her way back out into the lobby and down the hall to rejoin her parents.

  Deacon stood there for a long while, staring after the woman he feared he’d already managed to fuck it up with. If she wanted him, she’d have asked him to stay, wouldn’t she?

  His skin still smelled of her from just hours before, but now it felt as though they’d never touched.

  You fucking idiot. I told you not to get attached after three days, he thought.

  He stood for a long while, dreading the notion of going home to his empty house to waste away the hours with his thoughts.

  John appeared at his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Hitching a ride, pal?”

  Deacon exhaled and headed out to the parking lot with his brother.

  ***

  “There’s another box in the living room for you, as well. I wasn’t sure what to do with the books, so I just dumped them all. Figure you can sort them later?”

  Deacon nodded, following Carissa out of the bedroom. She’d managed to pack most of his things for him. The closet was already empty when he arrived, the cupboards cleared of any serving dishes or favorite mugs he’d brought. Deacon hauled everything down to his SUV, the far back now teeming with all that he’d managed to bring down or collect in the eight months since he moved to Boston for Carissa. He hauled the last boxes down to the car and tucked them into the backseat.

  That was the last of it. It was almost depressing to see that everything he’d ever managed to add to Carissa’s apartment could all fit in a single car load. How he’d ever thought of that place as home, he couldn’t imagine.

  “If I find anything else, I’ll let you know. Ship it up, maybe?”

  Deacon nodded again. He hadn’t spoken much since his arrival at Carissa’s place. She’d pressed him for answers as to what to do w
ith his stuff for two weeks, finally forcing him to drive down on his day off and collect it all. It wasn’t the most pleasant drive. It just left him alone with his thoughts for five hours straight.

  Deacon stood by the driver’s side door, staring up at the brick building for the last time. Carissa stood beside him, leaning into him as she scratched his lower back. “I can’t believe that’s it.”

  Deacon glanced down at her, frowning. Carissa’s sandy blonde hair was up in a tangled ponytail, and she smelled of Sunflowers perfume and mint toothpaste. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “It’s alright. You won’t have to put up with my socks on the floor anymore.”

  She laughed to herself, then turned her face into his chest. The laugh had turned to sadness. He rubbed her arms and kissed the top of her head.

  Carissa wrapped her arms around his waist, and he froze. Her scent had changed. Deacon took a deep breath, searching for a means to break the embrace without hurting her.

  “Deedee, I don’t know if I can just let you leave like this?”

  His brow furrowed. “I think we both know it’s for the best, honey.”

  He took her by the shoulders, gently pulling her from him to look at her. She straightened instantly, pressing her lips to his. He closed his eyes, holding his breath.

  She kissed him again, the familiar teasing touches she’d once used to let him know she wanted him when they were first together. He’d seen them coming. He still hadn’t been ready.

  “Don’t go like this,” she said when she finally pulled from his lips. She hovered just inches away, letting him feel her breath as she spoke. “Come upstairs for a bit. Just for – you know.”

  She stared at him expectantly. He stared right back, his brow set.

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the door to her apartment building. He let her tug him a couple steps, then stopped. She turned to look at him, her expression turning impatient.

  “What are you doing? Come on, Deedee. Don’t leave it like this,” she said.

  She pulled again, but he didn’t move. He met her gaze and shook his head.

  “What do you mean? Suddenly you don’t want me?”

  He stared at her a moment. How should he respond to this? I’m sorry, I don’t want you anymore. I’m sorry, I’ve been with a woman since we were last together and even though she hasn’t spoken to me in weeks, I can’t betray my feelings for her. I’m sorry, I know what passion feels like now and it makes what we had thoroughly unappealing.

  None of those things sounded like the appropriate response. She may not have been the most loving woman, but he was sure hearing he’d already slept with someone else since their breakup would not be taken well.

  He pulled his hand from hers and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Car. Just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  She glared at him, as though a refusal was the most ludicrous notion she’d ever heard. “Are you serious? After all this time, you don’t want to?”

  After all this time, he thought. Does she mean after being together for so long, or does she mean, ‘After I refused to touch you for three months?’

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to confuse things. I don’t think it would be good for either of us.”

  And I’m in love with someone else, he thought. However pathetic that might make me.

  Carissa stared at him for a long moment, impatience etched across her brow. Then she turned toward the apartment door and waved behind her. “Fine. Drive safe.”

  Carissa disappeared inside, leaving him to the cold air and the endless contemplation of the drive home.

  He wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Maggie never called. She hadn’t called, hadn’t stopped by, and hadn’t asked about him around the medical center. He’d gone a couple days honoring her space, then finally went looking for her father in the clinic, hoping to catch her and say hello.

  Maynard Talbot had already been discharged.

  “Just go down to her house, jackass. Why are you being such a pussy?” John had said by the fifth day.

  Because he didn’t want to feel the way he felt standing in Carissa’s parking lot, staring up at the brick building for the last time. He’d come home to Carissa’s house every day for months, bracing for the rejection that would come the minute he walked through the door. Carissa would look at him with an air of almost half disdain, like his mere presence was an affliction. He didn’t want to see that look in Maggie’s eyes. The last time she’d set her eyes on him – really looked at him – she’d been digging her nails into his chest, pouring affection and lust for him in every breath.

  Had he been wrong again? He’d been fooled into thinking Carissa might be his great love, but even in those early days, Carissa never felt anything like that night with Maggie. Nothing felt like his abject determination to be there for her, to protect her.

  And yet, she’d disappeared.

  “If she wanted to see me, she would have by now. Wouldn’t she?” Deacon asked in response. John didn’t press. He’d had a whirlwind love affair with his wife Catherine, going from a passing encounter to living together within a week. Deacon thought that a bit fast, but seeing them almost two years on and still fawning over each other, Deacon couldn’t argue with his brother’s choice of mate.

  “When you know, you know,” he’d said.

  Yeah, but what if what you know is wrong? What if the one you feel called to doesn’t feel called back?

  “Then she isn’t it,” John said.

  Deacon hauled through Massachusetts and New Hampshire, crossing the familiar Piscataqua River Bridge on the border of Maine by two in the afternoon. He’d be home for supper at this rate.

  It was two weeks since he’d last seen Maggie. Two weeks of hearing unsolicited advice from John, two weeks of catching Bennett Calhoun eyeing his cousin Gracie when they had breakfast together. Two weeks of going on calls out near the rez and silently praying that Maggie was safe, that this time it wouldn’t be her he was called to save.

  Or perhaps hoping it would be.

  He just wanted to see her again.

  The sky was almost full dark by the time he reached Blackrock, and the familiar chore of opening the Fenn gate felt like a nail in a coffin. It was good to be home, surely, but when home is behind a gate that stands just yards from the road to the woman you can’t stop thinking about?

  Not so much.

  Deacon pulled down the dirt road, everything he’d cared enough about to take to Boston rustling in the back of the car. He plowed over old frost heaves and pot holes. He caught sight of his porch up ahead and sighed. Maybe his shit could survive a night in the cold of the car. Maybe he could chuck it all by the roadside and forget any of it existed.

  Maybe he needed to cheer the hell up.

  Deacon pulled into his driveway and got out of the car. The smell of her hit him like a baseball bat to the skull.

  He turned toward the porch. The dark head was almost invisible under the porch awning, but there she was, sitting in his rocking chair, watching him.

  He approached the porch steps, but didn’t speak.

  Maggie sat forward, her dark eyes glinting even in the dark. “You never called.”

  Deacon’s eyes went wide. “Neither did you.”

  He made his way up onto the porch, coming to stand at his front door as he waited for further word from her.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She sat there a long while, staring off into the dark. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No!” Deacon said and cringed. He’d sounded a bit more adamant than he intended. “Sorry, I mean no. I don’t want you to go. Do you want to come in?”

  Maggie seemed to contemplate this a moment, but finally stood from her seat and came to join him by the door. He felt the smell of her envelope him and had to fight not to close his eyes and relish in it. God, how could someone have such power over him?

  “You smell like a woman.”

  “What?” He asked, startled.<
br />
  “You. You smell like you’ve been close to another woman. Are you and Carissa getting back together?”

  Deacon looked down at himself. He’d been oblivious to her scent on him. It wasn’t sexual, by any means, but it was permeated into everything he owned in that Boston apartment, and that subtle note clung to him and his car like a beetle.

  She spoke in a calm way. It wasn’t accusatory or suspicious; it was simply a declaration of fact; a simple question.

  “No. I went to pick up my stuff from Carissa’s place this morning. I think she sprayed everything I own with Sunflowers perfume.”

  “You picked up your stuff?”

  Deacon nodded. “Yeah. Officially moved out.”

  Maggie searched his face a long while. “Are you gonna invite me in?”

  Deacon fumbled with the keys, finally getting the door open and holding it aside for her to enter. She walked into the place with slow deliberation, as though taking in every detail anew.

  Again they stood in each other’s presence, a heavy silence between them. He began to wonder why she’d come at all.

  Deacon made his way into the kitchen finally. “Do you want something to drink, or eat? I haven’t had supper yet, if you’re hungry.”

  “Is it over?”

  Deacon stopped. “What?”

  “Between you and Carissa? Is it over?”

  He turned to face her, taking a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t think it ever really began.”

  Maggie nodded, touching her hand to the counter where Deacon had first had his way with her. She stared at the place as though she too was thinking of that very thing. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  Deacon deflated instantly. “It’s alright. I imagine you had a lot going on.”

  Maggie chuckled. “You have no idea. You can’t imagine the bureaucracy of beating a chief of a god damn bear clan when you’re not a bear.”

  “No, I imagine I can’t. Is your dad alright? Are you safe now?”

  “I am. They’ve named Uncle Paul the new chief. Richard has been exiled from the rez.”

  “Has he really?”

  She nodded. “Don’t feel bad. I’m sure he’ll find someone else to boss around.”