A Rebel Without Claws (Southern Charm #1)

10. ~Ronan~

Chapter 10

~Ronan~

It was Sunday, and Celine was busy today. The house was quiet since my uncle was still gone. So I was busying myself in my room, sketching Celine’s portrait while listening to. Hozier on my phone.

I realized how pathetic this might seem—listening to sappy music while pining in my bedroom and sketching pictures of her—but I simply didn’t give a good goddamn. And if I happened to be replaying in my mind our first kiss on her doorstep, it couldn’t be helped. The devil take me, but I couldn’t stop obsessing over the sweet taste of her, the scent of her, the softness of her skin. I was truly, deeply undone.

My door popped open, and I jumped, shocked to see my uncle Shane standing there in cargo shorts and a T-shirt.

“What the hell?” I tapped my music off. “I thought you were gone for the full moon.”

He shrugged, like that was enough of an answer. “What are you doing? ”

I closed my sketchbook. “Nothing.”

“Good. Get your ass outside. It’s a beautiful fucking day and I’m grilling.”

Then he turned and walked off, leaving the door open.

Okay, that was weird. Werewolves usually stayed in the woods and shifted for several days around the full moon, needing time to let the wolf roam. But Uncle Shane had only been gone since yesterday morning.

Shoving off the bed, I padded barefoot in my jeans and T-shirt through the house to the back door leading to the small deck. When I passed through the kitchen, I noticed several plastic bags of groceries on the dining table. The scent of burning charcoal wafted from the back as I stepped out onto the deck.

Uncle Shane was lighting the pit, a bottle of Abita in one hand. “Grab a beer.”

He gestured to the outdoor table where he’d left a six-pack. I took one and twisted it open. Some country music was playing on his portable speaker, his phone sitting on a station next to it. The music reminded me of Texas. Even in the city of Austin, you’d hear country music playing in plenty of bars more often than not.

“Your wolf doesn’t need more than a day?” I asked, curious. That hadn’t been my experience with other friends back in Texas. They typically left for at least three or four days around the full moon.

“Ah. One day was enough.” The pit lit, he settled into one of the chairs with a sigh and swallowed a few gulps of his beer.

There were dark circles under his eyes and he hadn’t shaved. “You look a little tired,” I mentioned as I took the other chair at the table .

He shrugged. “Didn’t like the idea of you back here on your own.”

I chuckled. “Doesn’t bother me.” I spent most of my time back in Texas alone too.

“It bothers me,” he stated emphatically, holding my gaze.

His eyes were somewhere between the wolf and the man. He should’ve stayed gone another day and let his wolf do what he needed to do.

“Look, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He made no comment, turning to look out at the woods that extended behind his property. The pit began to smoke more as the coals burned.

“How is it going with the doctor?”

“My therapist?” I clarified with a smile. He nodded.

“Good, actually. I should thank you for that.”

“No need.”

We settled into a bit of silence, drinking our beers, listening to the music. Uncle Shane drummed a finger on the side of his beer. He was anxious about something.

“Better get the meat on that pit.” Then he headed back into the house.

This was odd. Uncle Shane and I didn’t spend quality time together, but he’d called me out here. And obviously for some specific reason. Rather than worry about it, because he’d get it off his chest sooner or later, I relaxed and let the noonday sun warm me on the deck and enjoyed my cold beer.

Uncle Shane took his time piling what smelled to be spicy sausage, pork steaks, and burgers on the grill .

“Are we expecting company?” I asked.

“Nah.” He laughed, closing the pit and setting his tongs on the side. “Figured I could get some cooking done for the week.”

“Good plan.” I reached over and opened two more beers, see- ing as he had finished his first as well. I handed it to him as he took his seat again with a sigh.

Though he seemed pensive about something, we sat in companionable silence for a bit. From here, I could see the back of the paint barn and the smaller shed for storage. Beneath the overhang of the storage shed was the Harley I’d seen Rhett drive into work the other day rather than his regular truck.

“What’s the story with that bike over by storage? Is that Rhett’s?”

Uncle Shane followed my gaze. “No, that’s actually all of ours.”

“How’s that?”

“Last year, we had this corporate guy drop off that Harley Frontier. He wanted some custom work done. But before we’d even gotten to work, he said he’d changed his mind. Went out and bought a Roadmaster instead. Said he wanted something better to tour across the US.” He shook his head on a snort.

“That one wasn’t good enough, huh?” I asked sarcastically.

The Frontier was a seriously nice bike.

He chuckled. “Apparently not. He was in a hurry. He said I could have it for a quarter of its value.”

“Damn. Why’d he let it go for so little?”

He shrugged. “Rich people. Guess he didn’t want the hassle.”

“That was lucky.”

“Yeah. So we keep it here and any of the guys can use it when they want.” He sipped his beer. “You know how to ride? ”

“Yeah. I’ve never sat my ass on a bike that nice, though.”

Smiling, he said, “Well, you’re welcome to use it whenever you like.”

“Thanks.”

Another country song came on that I recognized right away, “Keep The Wolves Away.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“That song. My friend Malcolm and some other guys”—ones I used to fight with in the underground ring—“we would sing this one at the end of the night at our favorite bar. It was owned by a werewolf like Howler’s is, and he found it funny to play it at closing time.”

Uncle Shane nodded and smiled. We sat quietly a minute, sipping beer and listening to the song about trying to survive, finding a better life, and keeping the wolves of the world away.

“You know, growing up, we didn’t have much,” said Uncle Shane. “My mom was sick for a long time and died when I was in my teens.”

I’d never met my grandmother. Mom used to say how loving and sweet she was. Cancer took her before I was born. She was human and didn’t have the genes to fight diseases like supernaturals did.

“Our dad worked hard, but it wasn’t enough,” he continued. “I went to work right out of high school to help keep things afloat. Sarah was still in elementary school, and Ella, your mom . . .”

He paused and observed me carefully. I knew he was seeing my mother’s features in my face. I favored her a lot.

He cleared his throat. “Your mom never went to college like she’d planned. We needed her at home, especially Sarah, and she knew it.” He took a sip of his beer. “She’d wanted to be a teacher. Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah.” My voice was rusty.

Mom used to teach me at home when I was little. She’d gotten pregnant with me not long after her sister Sarah had gone off to junior college. So yet again, life threw more adversity in her way. But she never let me feel like a burden. She always made sure I knew that I was the most important thing in her life. I never doubted it.

“She was a fantastic cook,” he said. “She made the best damn chicken enchiladas I ever had.”

I chuckled, my throat a little thick. “Those were my favorite. She made them for me all the time.”

“Lucky son of a bitch,” he teased.

We both laughed, but it turned somber quickly.

“Every year on my birthday, she made me a homemade red velvet cake. My favorite. Even when I moved away from Amarillo, she’d package it carefully and ship to me every year wherever I was living. Can you believe that?”

I couldn’t answer at first, too overwhelmed with these specific memories of her. I hadn’t talked about her with anyone who knew her in years. My aunt Sarah never talked about her with me. It was too hard.

Clearing my throat, I said, “I can believe that. She always thought about everyone else.”

“She did.” He set his beer on the table. “I miss those cakes.” He stood and walked over to the pit and turned the meat.

It was a clear day with wide blue skies above us. It wasn’t nearly as hot as usual, a balmy breeze rustling the leaves in the trees behind the house. Mom loved that sound. I’d never gotten to reminisce with anyone who knew her before.

When he sat back down, I told him, “She used to say all she needed for the perfect day was a hammock and a breeze and a salty margarita.”

Uncle Shane laughed. “She always enjoyed the simple things.”

We both grew quiet again. My mom was an amazing, wonderful woman. I’d dealt with her loss, but it always hurt when I thought about her in this way—all the moments we’d had and all the ones we never would.

“I should’ve been there.” My uncle’s voice had gone deep and serious.

“When?” I asked, unsure what he was talking about.

He held my gaze, his expression tense with emotion. “After she died. I should’ve been there for you.”

Never in my life had I expected this. I didn’t know what to say. “Your mom was the most selfless person I’ve ever known. And when her son needed someone, I wasn’t there. I’ve been so absorbed in my own life. I have no excuse.” He heaved a sigh and combed a hand through his hair.

“Anyway, I’m sorry, Ronan. I should’ve come around a lot sooner to help out.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“I suppose you are. Hell, I can’t blame you for all your cop troubles, because I was the same way when I was your age.”

I shrugged. “I’ve done all right on my own.”

“Yeah. But you don’t have to be on your own anymore. That’s all I’m saying.”

He suddenly seemed a little uncomfortable. That was a lot of emotion for my rather gruff uncle Shane .

He clapped his hands together and stood. “How about we eat?” he suggested abruptly.

“Sounds good to me. I’m starving.”

“Grab us some plates, would you?”

“Are there any vegetables or just meat?”

“Just meat and beer.”

I chuckled. “I’m good with that.”

After I fetched the plates and we settled outside with piles of pork steak and sausage, we ate in silence. Neither of us felt the need to talk anymore. Nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees to keep us company. It was a beautiful day.