(Mis)fortune (10 page)

My heart hammered, and I frowned.  It was easier dealing with Jim because I had no particular reaction to him.  Emmitt divided me.  He pulled me in too close without even trying and that scared me as much as it thrilled me.  Avoiding him would be safer.  At least, until I sorted out my reactions to him and gave the vision of us more thought.  It hadn’t exactly enforced his claim that he just wanted to be friends.

As I took a breath to politely decline, he held up a bottle that he’d held half-hidden behind his leg.

“I also brought up wine.  Jim said you needed it.”

“One glass,” Nana called loudly up the stairs.

Emmitt grinned at me and winked.  His boyish smile and dimple disarmed me, and I found myself nodding.  He didn’t hesitate.  He left the door open and joined me in the kitchen.  Darn it!  Why had I nodded?

He found the biggest glass in the cupboard and filled it to the top with wine.

“You don’t have to drink any,” he said when he caught my look.

I picked up the glass and took a large swallow.  It wasn’t my first glass of wine.  Blake had insisted on wine at the table and me drinking it.  I didn’t mind the taste or the mellow feeling that followed after a few sips.  But I knew better than to drink the whole thing.  I couldn’t afford the resulting dull senses.

The microwave beeped.  I turned the meat, removed the thawed pieces, and put them into a large bowl.  Then, I washed my hands and tossed Emmitt an onion with a request to chop it.

We worked together to assemble meatloaf.  Eggs, oats, spices, ketchup, onion, and brown sugar crowded in the bowl along with a growing pile of meat.  Emmitt mixed while I dug out a pan.

Each time I came back to the counter, I took another sip.  The wine did its job, and I began to relax.  I realized just how much when I opened my mouth to ask for pepper and said something else entirely.

“He locked them in their room when he got tired of them.”  I froze and stared at my hands.  I couldn’t believe what I’d just said.  Obviously, I still felt guilty about my own thoughts in regard to locking Aden in a room.

The water ran behind me briefly.  Then he touched my shoulder, turning me toward him.  Standing a foot apart, I tilted my head a bit to meet his eyes.  He didn’t look at me with pity or any other emotion I could name.  But something in his face, understanding maybe, caused a dam to break.

“My mom died just after Aden was born.  My stepfather, their dad, died two days before I saw you at that diner.  I’m all my brothers have.  I won’t let them be locked in a room again.”

He didn’t touch me, just stood close, listening.

“David will never get the chance,” he promised.  Determination laced his voice, and his eyes took on a steely glint.

Huh?  David?  As I frowned at him, I realized I’d never spoken about Blake, and a spark of hope that he really had nothing to do with Blake surfaced again.  I studied him and tried to read the truth from his face.  I couldn’t see truth or lie, but I saw a flash of something else as his eyes met mine.  Tenderness.

“I’m not afraid of David.”  I turned away, poured the rest of my wine into the sink, then put the meatloaf in the oven.

Emmitt said nothing.

I dug out a bag of potatoes and started peeling.  He stayed by my side and worked through the pile with me.  It hurt to be so close to him.  My stomach wouldn’t settle down.  But I didn’t move away.

*    *    *    *

I washed dishes in the silence of the apartment and exhaled a sigh.  Outside, the boys cried encouragement to Jim and Emmitt.

With a hot dishrag, I began to wash the counter after I lifted the wine bottle out of the way.  Downstairs, Aden erupted in a fit of giggles.  Playing with a werewolf.  No, werewolves.  My brothers were playing with
werewolves
.  I grimaced at the thought and continued to wash the counter, wiping away the remains of a dinner that had gone well.  Jim had brought the boys upstairs, and they’d served themselves as Nana joined us.  Everyone had been nice.  It felt like a family.  The thought turned my stomach to ice because I knew what I was doing.  I was deciding to stay—to live—with three werewolves.  What exactly did that mean?

I threw the dishrag into the sink and shook my head in frustration.  I needed to settle this in my head, settle what it meant for us.  I needed to start asking questions.  I needed to talk to Emmitt.  But the thought of seeing Emmitt change again made my insides turn to Jell-O.

My eyes fell on the wine bottle he’d forgotten.  More than half remained, enough to give me courage to ask hard questions and to stay and listen to scary answers.  I pulled the cork back out with a pop and slugged down the remains.  Lowering the bottle, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand then washed the stove.

After a few minutes, I grew warm and the tension eased from my shoulders.  Not all of it, but enough.  I wished I had more wine but headed to the stairs, anyway.  I wasn’t trying to use alcohol to hide from the answers, just to make the answers less terrifying.

At the top of the stairs, I hesitated.  Part of me—the part that was still listing off reasons alcohol use, when discovering the existence of werewolves, was completely reasonable—wanted to march right back into the apartment and go to sleep.  The other part of me agreed.  I turned to go back into the apartment and stopped myself.  No.  I needed answers.  Better now, not later.  I made a face, turned back to the staircase, and marched toward the unknown knowledge I really didn’t want to face, yet.

Emmitt was on his hands and knees being kicked in the sides by Liam with an order to
giddy-up
because Jim and Aden were in the lead.  They raced around the porch.  I didn’t envy Jim’s or Emmitt’s knees, but they didn’t seem to mind.  The boys didn’t look the least bit tired.

I slipped on the sandals I kept by the front door and joined the fun on the porch.  Nana sat in her chair, acting as a judge to keep the race fair.

“Ready for them to come up to bed?” Nana asked.

Aden protested loudly before he and Jim disappeared around the corner.

“Not yet.”  My stomach dropped a little knowing what I needed to do.  “Could you watch them a little longer?  I was hoping Emmitt and I could go for a ride.”

She turned and considered me.  “You smell like wine.  Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s the only one I have,” I whispered miserably.

She gave me a sympathetic look.  “Of course, I’ll watch them.  I’ll put them to bed for you, too.”

I nodded and waited for the racers to approach again.  Before I could say anything, Emmitt stopped in front of Nana, and with great disappointment, Liam dismounted.  Emmitt ruffled Liam’s hair.

“This doesn’t mean they won.  We’ll just need to race them again tomorrow.  K, bud?”

Liam perked up at Emmitt’s promise to race again and nodded in agreement.

Emmitt turned toward me and extended his hand.  Swallowing the fear the wine hadn’t killed, I touched my fingers to his.

“Nana will watch you, Liam,” I said as Emmitt wrapped his hand around mine.  Liam nodded again, and Emmitt gave me a gentle, playful tug.

My heart thumped heavily as we walked to the garage.  This time, I used him as a brace to mount because I was just a little unsteady.  I settled on the seat, placed my feet, and reached for the bar behind me.

“No holding the bar this time,” he said, starting the bike.  “Hands around me so I know you’re still with me.”

I nodded and tentatively wrapped my arms around his waist.  After hesitating for a moment, I laid my hands flat on his shirt over his stomach.  I could feel the hard muscle beneath, and the heat of him warmed me more than the wine had.  My stomach went into freak-out mode, twisting and tumbling in a thrilling way.

He slowly pulled out of the garage, and I waved to our audience on the porch while I tried to calm my racing heart.  It was hard to do when his muscles twitched under my fingers with each slight movement.

He turned left and drove for a bit.  I began to relax, loving the ride.

When the bar we’d passed on the way to his house that first day came into view, I tapped his stomach and motioned for him to pull in.  One more drink, and I could do this.  I could ask him to show me what he meant by werewolf and see what Blake really was so I could start asking questions.

He pulled over to the graveled parking lot.  The rather small building’s dark wood siding blended a little too well with trees pressed up against the back of it.  With a faded sign above the entrance and a flickering neon light in a window, it didn’t look like much from the outside.

“I can’t take you in there.”

“Yes, you can.”  I knew I looked old enough.  If they carded, we’d leave.  But I really didn’t think they’d card in the sticks. I climbed off the bike.

“Nana will kill me.”

“I think you can take her,” I said sarcastically.

“You have no idea,” he muttered as he got off the bike.

He led me into the bar.  Dressed in cutoffs and a tank top, I blended in well with the few patrons inside.  Emmitt walked up to the bar and ordered himself a beer and two shots for me.  My eyebrows rose.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?  Alcohol?”  He looked slightly annoyed with me as he handed me the first one.

I was dealing with the surreal weirdness of my life as best I could and didn’t much care for his attitude.  Narrowing my eyes at him, I drank the tiny drink.  It burned a trail down to my stomach.

“That was awful,” I said making a face. I definitely preferred wine.

The annoyance left his gaze, and his lips twitched.  He nodded in agreement and handed me the second one.

“Isn’t there something better than that?”

“There is, but that will do the trick.”

I swallowed the second one quickly and waved the bartender back over to ask for a glass of water.  We sat there as he nursed his beer and the fire spread through my veins.

“I think I’m ready,” I said unsteadily.

“For what, exactly?” he asked, taking a sip while he watched me.

“To get to know you.”

His eyebrows rose comically, and I realized how what I said sounded.  A giggle escaped me, and my IQ dropped.  The downside of liquid courage.

“Not that,” I assured him.  “Like you asked.”

A fleeting sadness filled his eyes, but then he shook his head and stood, offering me a hand.  I needed it.

Night had fallen when he led me back outside to his motorcycle.  The ride home was dangerous and exciting.  He went slow, and I held on tight.  Maybe my hands wandered over his chest a bit.  I wasn’t quite sure how much, though, because I couldn’t feel my fingers.

When we parked, I asked my first question.  “What was in that little cup?”  Darn mouth wasn’t saying what I wanted it to. Shot; I knew it was a shot.

“Tequila.”

“It didn’t taste good,” I said as I struggled to get off the bike.

He twisted and lifted me off as he stood.  It was so effortless that I blinked at him in awe as he got off the bike and stood before me.

“What now?” he asked.

No lights glowed in the windows of the house.  The yard light’s weak illumination just reached the garage.  Enough to see, anyway.

“Show me?” I asked.  My world tilted a little, and I reached out a hand to steady myself.  When the world righted, I absently petted the bicep under my fingers.  Lovely muscle.

“What exactly?”  Emmitt voice rumbled quietly in front of me.

“You said you’re a werewolf.  Show me what that means exactly.”  I slowly blinked at him, watching the shadows the yard light cast on his face.

He studied me for a moment then reached up and gently ran his fingers down my cheek.  “If I show you, will you answer some questions for me?”

I nodded gamely.

“Turn around for a second.”

I spun on my heel and almost tipped over.  Giggling, I pin-wheeled my arms for a few seconds and struggled to regain my balance.  When I found it, I spread my arms wide like a tightrope walker.  My fingers touched fur, and I gasped and looked at my hand.

Beside me stood a huge dog.  The light from the house barely glinted off the beast's dark eyes as it watched me.

“Hi, there!”  I petted its head.  Then, wondering where the dog had come from, I peered around the garage looking for Emmitt.

“Did you see where he went?”

At the dog's feet, I noticed a neat pile of clothes.  Wait, weren’t those Emmitt’s clothes?  I imagined a naked Emmitt running around and grinned.

I bent, picked up Emmitt’s neatly folded shirt, and held it to my face.  It was still warm.  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes.  He smelled so good.  The dog nudged me, and I realized I’d almost drifted off to sleep.

“Good boy,” I said, patting its head again.

It harrumphed and used its teeth to try to pluck the shirt from my grasp.

“Bad!” I scolded, tapping the dog on the nose.  Its head came to my chest so it wasn’t a hard reach.

Suddenly, the dog began to change, comically distorting in lurching phases.  Fur disappeared, showing smooth skin.  A naked expanse of man-chest.