Page 5 of Fixer
With dusk coming quickly, only a few schoolchildren still climbed on the metal structure or swung on the wooden swings.Still far too many witnesses for a fight.I figured Dustin was just taking a shortcut, but he crossed the baseball field and stopped at the base of the lone oak, still in clear view of the humans.Turning with his back to the trunk, he watched me prowl toward him.
I stopped five feet away.The brief view on the dumpster hadn’t lied.Dustin hadn’t changed much in seven years.Age thirty-seven to forty-four in a human might’ve been the start of wrinkles and gray hairs, but Dustin’s short hair was as thick and dark as ever, and only a few familiar, faint lines bracketed his mahogany eyes.His wide shoulders still outclassed mine, despite the work I’d done getting stronger, and his height still topped mine.The heavy muscle he carried had never made him slow, and he probably outweighed me by forty pounds.In all my dreams of revenge, I’d never imagined beating Dustin in a fair fight, and I had no such illusions now.
“Wade,” he said, his voice familiar from a hundred dreams, a thousand nightmares, a million poisoned memories.“Did you get the picture?”
Shoving down the flood of anger that tightened my throat, I managed to say, “Yeah.Who the hell is the blond guy?”
“I should tell you, I lied to you years back.To you and Alpha and all the pack.”
“Lied.What?That you hadn’t found some long-lost relative of mine?”
“That Itook careof Shawn.”He met my gaze, the last light of sunset coaxing a ruddy tone from his deep brown irises.I’d dreamed of those eyes, back when.Dustin stared intently, as if trying to impress his words into my mind.“I lied when I implied to you and Alpha that Shawn was dead.He’s not.”
“Youwhat?”My blood rushed in my ears.My chest hurt and I dug my fingernails into my palms.
“Lied that I’d killed him.I didn’t.”He held out a pack of photos.“This is Shawn.From about a year ago—”
“Fuck you!”I lunged, swinging clenched fists wildly as he ducked, all he’d taught me himself about fighting condensed into my fury.“Damn you!How dare you pretend!He’s dead.He’s dead!”
Kill him!Beat him!I threw myself at Dustin.
The photos scattered across the ground as my attack bowled him over.I got in punches to his nose, to his eye, the impacts jarring my arms, before he rolled us and pinned me in the dirt with his weight and skill, my hands clamped above my head.
“Calm down!”
“Fuck you!Fuckyou!”I fought, panting, flinging my weight about, trying to head-butt or get a knee up.His grip dug bruises in my wrists.I kicked and connected with his leg but he just grunted.
“Sniff my damned pocket.”Dustin shoved me down harder into the dirt.
The odd request made me blink and weakened my next kick.“What?”
“I have one of Shawn’s washcloths in my pocket.”
I froze.“You what?”
Dustin let go and jumped back, leaving me lying sprawled on my back.He dug in his pants pocket and tossed a scrap of terrycloth onto my face.
The scent hit me like a brick.Shawn.My brother’s live body.No doubts, no denials.Faint but unmistakable.I tried to hang on to my anger and pretend the traces could be lingering from seven years back, but why would Dustin be carrying an old washcloth around all this time just to mess with me?And I knew an old scent from a fresher one.
Shawn’s alive.Oh my God!My chest heaved painfully and I gritted my teeth to hold back a sob, raising a hand to touch that scrap of fabric, the roughness of terrycloth real under my fingertips.
Dustin backed up another step and folded his beefy arms across his chest.“I figured you might need convincing.”
I pressed the cloth to my face, covering my nose and burning eyes, and breathed as my whole past rearranged itself.Everything I’d thought was real spun away in the darkness, replaced by a jumble of wild hope.“Where is he?How?Is he okay?Whereishe?”
“Can we go somewhere more private now without you attacking me?”Dustin asked.“He’s fine.”
“I need to know—”
A little kid’s voice interrupted me.“Are you all right, Mister?”
I yanked the cloth off my face, keeping my fist tight around it, and peered up at a boy of perhaps eight.“Yeah.I’m good.We were play-fighting, and I fell over.”Dustin held down his hand and I took it, letting him haul me to my feet.He let go immediately, which I appreciated, because his touch sent shudders through me.I was still furious, and… I wiped my hand on my sweatpants before patting some of the dust off myself and forcing a smile for the kid.
“Okay.”The boy ran back to the climbing structure.
Dustin said, “I parked my car a couple of blocks away.Or we could go back to your place.”
“Your car.”I didn’t want Dustin in my space— not his presence, not his scent, where I’d dreamed so often of spilling his blood.
