Page 51 of To Keep A Wolf
The house is quiet beyond the bathroom door. Tripp, Levi, and my father are burying the tracker far enough away from the house that anything that might stumble upon and dig it up won’t trace it back here—hopefully.
My mother helped herself to the second bathroom, but I can’t hear a single movement other than my own.
When I can’t put it off any longer, I step out and pad through the house on bare feet. To my surprise, I find my mother sitting at the table with a drink in her hand. She wears a pair of gym shorts and a gray tee that I expect belong to my father though I can’t scent anything coming off the clothes or her own skin. The glass she holds is half-full of amber liquid. In the center of the table is a bottle of whiskey. I retrieve my own glass from the cabinet and pull out the chair across from her, the one my father sat in earlier, and help myself to a hefty pour.
She watches me, silent.
I don’t let myself look too closely at her expression. Maybe I’m not ready to know the answers to all my questions. Or maybe it’s easier to be angry if I don’t let her explain.
“I didn’t hear you come out,” I say.
“The cloaking charm.”
“Right. From Indigo Hills?”
“I got it from Clem, the bartender we hunted down last Christmas. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
We’d spent the holiday in a dive bar in Laramie. It sucked.
We fall silent, and then, accidentally, we both lift our glasses and drink in unison. Gulp after gulp until our glasses are empty. Like mother like daughter.
Ugh.
The alcohol is a welcome burn against my throat. I don’t wait to see if it’s enough to take the edge off before I reach for the bottle again. My mother watches me pour and then holds her own glass up for a refill.
I pour for her too, and then we both just sit.
For some reason, I think of the beach trip I’d been secretly planning with Kari—before all of this went to shit. Whiskey tastes better on a beach. Or that’s my theory. I wouldn’t know for sure.
Outside, I hear the approach of footsteps. All human. They must have shifted back for the purpose of digging. A moment later, the front door opens, and my father walks in. Levi is right behind him.
“Where’s Tripp?” I ask.
“Checking the perimeter,” Levi supplies.
“Any more problems?” I ask.
Levi’s dark glance says he knows what I mean. Any more enemies to kill?
“No,” he says, and in that word is exhaustion and suspicion, the latter aimed at my mother. He crosses to me and drops a kiss on my cheek. He smells like freshly turned earth—and blood.
I offer him my glass.
He takes it and downs the double shot then hands it back. “Thanks.” The glass is streaked with dirt from his fingers.
“I put some clothes in the bathroom for you,” I tell him.
His gratitude conveys in the squeeze he gives my shoulder. “Thanks. I’m going to grab a shower.”
He disappears down the hall, and I’m left with my parents, both of whom are staring at each other like they’re seeing a ghost. Suddenly, the third-wheel tension is unbearable.
I push back in my chair. “I'm going to check on Tripp,” I say.
“No.” My mother’s answer is quick to the point of forceful. She glances at me, softening as she tears her gaze from the man she supposedly once loved. “Stay,” she says softly. “We have a lot to discuss, and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”
I look at my father, fully aware that I’m considering his wishes over hers in this moment. He finally looks away from her and over at me, his shoulders sagging. “She’s right. We should talk.”
