Page 12 of Taken By the Pack

Stomach cancer. She hadn’t told me at first, not until it was too late. By then, the treatments were just a way to prolong the inevitable.

I stayed with her until the end, holding her hand as the light faded from her eyes.

Ten years later, I still see her in every wave, every tide pool, every fucking breath I take by the ocean.

“Jesus, Mia,” I whisper, my thumb brushing over the photo. “What the hell am I supposed to do without you?”

The room is silent, the only sound the distant crash of waves.

I tuck the photo back into my wallet and shove it into my pocket. This is good. The assignment, the move—it’s what I need. A change of scenery. Work to keep my mind busy.

Love? That shit’s not on the table. Not now. Not ever again.

The room stays silent, offering no response.

The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the quiet. I glance at the screen.Liam.Of course. I press my lips together and answer.

“Hey, Liam,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

“Ash,” my brother’s voice comes through, smooth and clipped like always. “Just wanted to check what time you’re coming tomorrow.”

“Coming to what?” I ask, though I already know what he means.

“Family dinner. It’s been three months. You didn’t forget, did you?” His tone carries that edge, the one that says forgetting isn’t an option.

We have these family dinners every three months, and no one can miss. I hate them.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Right. What time?”

“Six sharp. Don’t be late. Dad hates it when you stroll in halfway through.”

“Got it,” I reply. We both know I’m walking into an ambush.

“And Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to embarrass yourself this time,” he says, like he’s doing me a favor.

“Sure thing,” I snap, hanging up before I say something I’ll regret.

* * *

Morning light filtersthrough the blinds. I spend most of it staring at reports and organizing my gear for Driftwood Cove.

By late afternoon, I’m in the shower, scrubbing off the tension of what’s coming. Family dinners are a ritual, but not one I’d ever choose to partake in.

I towel off and head to my closet, staring at my limited wardrobe. Fieldwork doesn’t exactly require suits, but mine isn’t the kind of family where you show up in jeans and a hoodie.

My nicest sweater, a charcoal gray cashmere thing that still has the tags from when Mom bought it, ends up being my choice, paired with black dress pants that feel stiff and unnatural.

Grabbing a bottle of red wine I bought last week, I sigh. It’s probably not expensive enough for their taste, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

I try not to dread the coming experience too much as I drive to my parents’ house. I’ve just never fit in. I’ve always been the odd man out.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be part of a family who I shared interests with, who actually seemed to like being around me.

I’ll never know what that feels like, so I shove the thought into a corner of my mind and turn on the radio, hoping for a distraction.

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