Badger to the Bone

by Laurenston, Shelly

  “Yes!” Finn nodded and smiled at Shay. “Is it me or do you think the kid finally gets it?”

  chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Xavier Vargas opened his front door and found his grandson standing there, filling up that doorframe as he always had since the time he was fourteen. He wasn’t alone today, though. For the first time since high school, he’d brought a girl home.

  Some Chinese girl with purple hair and sneakers that matched. She didn’t even reach Zé’s shoulder she was so short.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “We need to talk,” Zé said, pushing his way past Xavier and entering the apartment they’d called home the kid’s entire life.

  “About what?” he asked, closing the door.

  He started to follow Zé, but a knock at the door had him opening it again. The purple-haired girl stood there.

  She gestured toward Zé. “I’m kinda with him.”

  “Then get in here,” he told her and waited until “her majesty” made her grand entrance.

  He pointed to the room he used as his living room and office. Yeah, the apartment was small but it was better than what he used to have growing up.

  Xavier went to his kitchen, took three bottles of beer out of the refrigerator and grabbed an opener from the drawer, then took the extremely short jaunt to the living room, which was about two inches away from the kitchen. Although a wall did separate them, which was nice and a feature not everyone in the building had.

  He handed out the beers and took the top off his grandson’s, then his own, then was about to do the same for the girl but she had already used her teeth to remove the cap.

  Deciding not to focus on that bit of tacky for longer than was necessary, Xavier faced his grandson.

  Zé began to speak but Xavier stopped him. “You know what we have to do first,” he reminded his grandson.

  With that damn eye roll, Zé touched the top of his beer bottle to Xavier’s, then to the girl’s. Xavier followed suit.

  She seemed to enjoy that bit of politeness Xavier insisted upon, grinning like a happy idiot before downing some of her beer.

  “It’s American beer,” he told her when she grimaced a little after swallowing. “None of that fancy foreign shit in my house.” He looked at his grandson. “So what do you want?”

  “Wow,” the girl said. “You two are not friendly to each other? Is this the typical dynamic between you? Because I love my Pop-Pop. He’s like the greatest guy! So sweet and funny and—”

  “Stop talking,” Zé ordered.

  “Okay.”

  She wandered away, going to the bookcase that took up the entire wall that separated the living room from what Xavier still considered to be Zé’s bedroom. She studied the titles of the many books there. Books he’d been collecting—when he could afford to—since he was a child.

  “How could you not tell me?” Zé asked.

  “Tell you what?” Xavier asked.

  “Don’t try that bullshit with me, old man. You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about.”

  Xavier stepped into his grandson. “Listen to me, you little shit. You might be ten feet taller than me and wider than this apartment, but talk to me like that again and I will put you down.”

  “You know what would be nice right now?” the girl suddenly said, quickly stepping between Xavier and his grandson. “Chili. Chili would be soooo nice right about now. You see, my sister’s mother—we’re half-sisters so I’m not being weird by calling her ‘my sister’s mother’—she used to say that so many problems could be easily rectified if people just sat down over a big meal and talked to each other. She used to say that World War Two would have never happened if”—she took a moment to swallow at this bit—“Hitler, Stalin, Roosevelt, and all the rest actually sat around a big table and talked over a delightful meal of beer and chili. I’m not sure I agree with her,” she added. “Hitler seemed pretty determined, but, ya know . . . the general spirit of what she was saying is true. Especially when dealing with family. So why don’t I see what you have in your refrigerator and maybe I can whip up something we can eat while calmly and rationally discussing all this, like the loving family you are. How does that sound?”

  Xavier looked up at his towering grandson and his grandson glowered down at him.

  Yeah, Xavier didn’t think that would really work.

  * * *

  Max wasn’t exactly surprised when the two men exploded into a Spanish-language argument that left her in the dark. She had taken Spanish when she was in high school but to be honest, even if she’d lived in Spain for the last twenty years, she wasn’t sure she’d understand a word these two were saying. Not with the yelling and the speed at which they were yelling those words.

  She’d known this might happen. After seeing that information they’d gotten from the cat database. After one look at that thing, she knew that Zé’s grandfather had known long before Zé was out of his mother’s womb that the kid would be a shifter. How did she know? Because one of the pages was a document that entrusted Zé’s care to the Katzenhaus Trust if anything was to happen to his mother, grandmother, or his grandmother’s mate, Xavier.

  Not only that, but Xavier had signed it. His signature was there on the copy of the document that had been printed out. Right after the signatures of his wife and daughter.

  So, of course, he’d known. The question now, of course, was why he’d kept it all secret from his grandson. Why hadn’t Xavier helped him as he’d developed into an adult? Especially during puberty when Zé was probably confused and scared, wondering what the fuck was going on with his body. Instead, he’d forced his grandson to bury that part of himself, to completely ignore his shifter side. Why?

  Those were the questions that probably needed to be answered the most, but screaming at each other wouldn’t get them there.

  Still, her plaintive, “Hey, come on. Can’t we discuss this rationally?” was just not doing the trick. So she did what she had to do and it wasn’t pretty.

  * * *

  Max unleashed a nasty, vicious hiss, opening her mouth to reveal all those horrifying fangs as a copious amount of spit flew from the back of her throat and sprayed both men.

  Then, with those fangs still hanging out for the world to see, she said, “Both of you stop or I will unleash my anal glands. And I can promise you that the funk alone will kill both of you. The only species not bothered by that smell are the canines. Neither of you are canines. So let’s stop the fucking bullshit!” she roared before immediately calming down and softly adding, “Okay?”

  Wiping spit off the side of his face, his grandfather accused, “You’re dating honey badgers now?”

  That’s when all the fight left Zé. It just left.

  Not only did his grandfather know what Zé was—and had known for Zé’s entire life—but he knew that world. If he knew honey badgers, the man knew the shifter world. Shen had told him when they were hanging out in that tree at the MacKilligan house that the honey badgers didn’t usually associate with other shifters. They stuck with full-humans, blending in so they could manipulate and use them for their own profit and entertainment. Like Rasputin. Like the Borgias. But one fang-filled outburst from Max and his grandfather had known what she was and that he didn’t want his only grandchild hanging around her. Meaning Xavier Vargas could have easily raised his grandson in the shifter world without any assistance from anyone.

  But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d lied by omission. When Zé had come to him confused and a little scared because he could run faster than anyone in his class, or could fall from trees and the second floor of buildings and not get a scratch much less a broken arm or leg like his friends, or when he’d hissed at his high school football coach because he’d grabbed Zé’s shoulder, pissed about a missed play, Xavier Vargas could have sat Zé down and explained it all to him so that he didn’t feel like a weirdo freak among his full-human friends.

  But, again, he hadn’t done that. Any of that. He’d
just let his grandson go around feeling like an outsider, when the world he truly belonged to was right next door. A world that Xavier understood and seemed to be more a part of than any full-human who had fallen hopelessly in love with a cat or dog or bear.

  Knowing that, understanding that, was too much for Zé. Just too much after everything else he’d experienced the last few days.

  He carefully placed the untouched beer onto one of the end tables by the couch and walked out the door of the apartment he’d been trying to get his grandfather to leave for the last decade.

  Zé walked out, and into what he hoped would be his new life.

  * * *

  Max put her beer on the coffee table and started after Zé. But she stopped just as she reached the end of the couch.

  It was true, she didn’t have much family. With her mom in prison, her father an asshole, and both sides of her family wanting nothing to do with her. But Carlie, Charlie’s mom, had told her from the day she’d arrived at their little Connecticut home, “Max Yang-MacKilligan, you will always have a place with us. Do you know why? Because you’re family, baby. And family is family. Now please stop choking Mrs. Merchant’s cat and put it back out on the fire escape. I know it scratched you, but it’s just a cat, Max.”

  “Family is family.”

  That’s what Carlie had taught Max.

  But it was Charlie who’d taught Max that family only mattered “if they are in it with you. To the end. Do or die.”

  Carlie had been Max’s family because she’d been in it until the end and she had died trying to protect three little girls, only one of whom was actually her responsibility. She could have grabbed Charlie and run, leaving Max and Stevie behind, but she hadn’t. She’d fought to protect them all.

  Could that have been the wrong choice? Maybe for others, but not for Carlie. Because she had lived to do what was best for her girls. It had always been about “her girls.”

  Max looked over her shoulder at Zé’s grandfather, and she didn’t see a man with an irrational hatred of shifters or a selfish bastard who didn’t want a freak for a grandson. She saw devastation on that face because of the past choices Xavier had made. But until grandfather and grandson talked this out, Zé would never know if those choices had been made with his best interests in mind or not.

  Max looked around the living room but didn’t see any writing paper. Making a tough choice, she grabbed one of the books off the shelves, grabbed a pencil that was lying on the coffee table, and jotted down the address of her Queens home. A move that would have Charlie gasping in horror. She didn’t have much time for reading but she treated books like gold.

  “When you’re ready,” Max told Xavier as she placed the book on the table and rushed out the door.

  She didn’t bother with the elevator but instead ran down the stairs, hoping to catch Zé before he left the building. But she was too late. She rushed through the front door, past the people hanging out in front of the building because it was too hot in their apartments with only shitty fans to fight the summer heat.

  A few men whistled at her or made comments but when she looked directly at them, they all quickly turned away. If she were in a different mood, she might amuse herself by torturing them, but she didn’t have the time or energy. Instead, she walked toward the street a few hundred yards away, again hoping to find Zé before he took off.

  “Max.”

  She stopped and turned. Zé sat on a bench. As if he’d just given up halfway into his “stalk off.”

  Relieved, she walked over and stood in front of him. He didn’t look at her or say anything. Just sat there with his head bowed.

  Max kind of wished Nelle was here. She was really good with the emotional stuff and could tell Max what to do. This was definitely not Max’s thing. She was all about the action, about rectifying problems rather than discussing them. And, more than once, Stevie had pointed out how horrible Max was with “anything that has to do with human emotion.”

  Still . . . she was all Zé had at the moment.

  Reaching out, she placed her hand on Zé’s head and, when he didn’t jerk away, dug her fingers into his hair.

  He wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled her close, pressing his cheek against her stomach.

  They stayed like that a while, neither one speaking or noticing the world around them.

  chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Berg walked up to Charlie’s house, and the first thing he noticed was that the door was new. He didn’t want to think too much about what had happened to the old door because he was sure it was something bad.

  He entered the house and saw damage to the wall from where—he was guessing—the old door had hit it, justifying his earlier concern.

  From there he entered the living room. The first thing he noticed was that one of the windows had been boarded up. Yep. Something bad.

  Letting his gaze sweep the room, he saw Zé stretched out on the couch.

  “You okay, man?” Berg asked, assuming that at some point the new shifter had gone through that window. He’d been around the MacKilligan sisters long enough to know it was extremely possible.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” the cat replied on a very long sigh, which was not the reaction Berg had expected. Especially if Zé had been in some kind of fight. Most shifters found fights exhilarating, not sad. Yet the way Zé was gazing up at the ceiling . . . he appeared sad.

  “Where’s Max?” Berg asked.

  “She went to get Chinese food.”

  “Okay.”

  Zé didn’t say anything else so Berg continued on through the dining room and into the kitchen. That’s where he found Charlie. If she’d had another crazy day with her family, he’d find her baking, because that was how Charlie dealt with her stress. But that was not what he found.

  Instead, the woman he loved was sitting at the kitchen table with her head resting on her stretched-out arms, and the three dogs he didn’t really want at her feet. He knew this was bad because even the dogs seemed depressed.

  “Charlie”

  She sighed, sounding a little like Zé. “Yeah?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she obviously lied.

  “Are you sure? Because you seem a little bummed.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just wondering where I went wrong with everything.”

  Not just went wrong with some specific thing, but with everything. Oy.

  “Where you went wrong with what?” he asked, wanting her to be specific.

  But nope. “Everything. Where I went wrong with everything.”

  Berg tried to find a space for his foot on the floor between Charlie and the dogs. When he didn’t hear a yelp from any of the three on the floor, he crouched next to Charlie and brushed her curly hair off her face. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  She sat up straight but didn’t look at him.

  “I think I’m a horrible sister,” she suddenly announced. “I’m ruining their lives. At least I hope it’s ruining their lives and that I haven’t already ruined their lives. I want them to still have a chance.”

  “Charlie, that’s crazy. You haven’t—”

  “I think I should move out and let them enjoy the wonders of life.”

  The wonders of life? Seriously? He hadn’t been gone that long. What the fuck could have happened since he’d left on a last-minute protection job with his sister and brother the night before to bring out “the wonders of life”?

  Berg hadn’t known Charlie that long, it was true. She’d exploded into his life and he’d been figuring her out ever since. But even though Charlie and her sisters were different from other shifters he’d ever known, the three of them were also the fiercest beings he’d ever known. It was as if Charlie had been created out of steel, Max titanium, and Stevie gold.

  But in less than twenty-four hours, the strongest woman he’d ever known had been reduced to a crumpled mess talking about “the wonders of life.�
�� What the hell had happened?

  “Okay,” Berg said, standing up. He reached down, put his hands on Charlie’s hips, and lifted her out of the chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, but she didn’t seem to really care whether she got an answer or not.

  Berg carried her into the living room and over to the couch.

  “Move your legs,” he ordered Zé, settling her down when the cat finally moved a bit so there was some space.

  He turned on the TV and put one of Charlie’s favorite horror movies on: The Exorcist III. Because . . . why not?

  Berg left the two depressed shifters and stepped out of the house just as Max was pulling into a spot right in front.

  “Hey,” she said when she stood at the back of the SUV, opening the door so she could get the food. “What’s up?”

  “What happened with your sister?”

  She stopped, looked at him. “Nothing. Why?”

  “She seems to think she’s ruined your lives . . . ? Does that sound familiar?”

  “God,” Max said with an eye roll, and reached into the back of the SUV to start carrying the food into the kitchen. “She didn’t blow up anything, did she? Did the Feds come by? Should I smuggle her out of the country again?”

  “I’m not talking about Stevie. I’m talking about Charlie.”

  Again Max stopped, turned to look at him with one of the bags of Chinese food in her hands. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you guys get into an argument or something?”

  “Me and Stevie?”

  “No. Charlie.”

  “I don’t argue with Charlie. I argue with Stevie.”

  “Well, something’s wrong. She’s depressed and—”

  “Stevie?”

  Now he was getting frustrated. “Charlie.”

  “Charlie doesn’t get depressed. It’s her anxiety that really gets her.”

  “I know that, but at this moment she’s thoroughly depressed. I’ve never seen her like this.”

  Max thought a moment but finally shrugged. “As long as she’s baking—”

  “She’s not baking.”