The Good Boys Club (Mythical Mishaps #2)

29. Shoot for the Moon

Shoot for the Moon

Ten Years Earlier

Mash

“What do you mean you won’t be back for Harvest Fest?”

It was two thirty in the morning, the night after Zach and Kai’s mating ceremony, the night after I kissed my best friend on the mouth—snogged him, actually. And dry humped him until I was at the brink of coming in my expensive suit trousers and ruining everything between us. I still wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t.

Cian had said we were cool, that our friendship was stronger than an impulsive fumble. That we had both been kinda drunk, and the atmosphere had been kinda romantic—what with the stars and the summer evening air—and that we had both been low-key panicking about the future. Cian about never finding true love and me about this entire mess which was my life.

Mam stood at the kitchen counter, tears in her eyes. She’d been sneaking leftover meat from the fridge when I jump-scared her with my news. The fridge door still hung open.

Even though I didn’t care much for my degrees, I wanted—no, needed to stay in Remy. Science wasn’t for me. I mean, I loved trees, and nature, and sticks, and moss, and lichen, and mushrooms. And I loved the field research—being out amongst the things I was studying, learning about the environment—but I hated being in a lab.

I hated numbers, and measurements, and decimals, and how clinical things were, and my boring lab partner Chris. I hated calculations, and computers, and all the different pointless systems and programs we needed to log stuff and communicate with each other. I hated deadlines. I hated coursework. I hated exams. I hated all the fucking university red tape if you wanted even one silver to put towards your research ideas. I hated extenuating circumstances. I hated the coffee at the biosciences building. I hated that the vending machines were always sold out of Peanut Goobers.

I hated it all, but computers aside, I was really good at it.

For once in my life I felt smart, and the weird thing was, I didn’t have to put that much effort in. I was just naturally skilled at this stuff. I’d graduated with first-class honours from my bachelor’s degree and a distinction on my master’s, and I didn’t even try.

Okay, I did try . . . a little. I read the texts I was supposed to read, attended all my lectures and workshops and seminars, got my papers in on time . . . But I also partied hard, like super hard, so it kind of felt as though I shouldn’t have received the grades I did. Like a fluke.

And despite intensely disliking the work and uni and pretty much everything else, I didn’t hesitate when my mentor asked if I was interested in studying for a doctorate.

Professor Sonny Daye was a three hundred and fifty year old fae, but you’d never know. He behaved as if he was thirty-five. He taught mycology and was obsessed with mushrooms and gardening. He had an allotment in Waterside, which he encouraged me to visit often. I did because it got me out of the labs and lecture halls.

One afternoon, I was turning over the compost in his veg beds and he asked if I wanted to stay and do a PhD and that he would sponsor me. It would mean another four years away from Howling Pines—at least four more years in Remy with Cian.

I had said yes before he’d finished his question.

What I failed to consider was how my entire pack would handle the news. But now, standing in front of Mam in the kitchen while everyone else slept off the weekend’s festivities, I half wished I could take everything back.

“Mash,” she continued, placing the plate of chicken thighs on the counter. “You have to be here. You’re the successor and you’ll be twenty-five in two months. You have to accept the call of the alpha in September. Your grandmother cannot lead the pack forever. She’s already in her seventies.”

“I can reject the call,” I said. My voice wavered at the end. There was nobody besides me and Mam in the kitchen. I thought I’d break it to her first.

She nodded, then slowly released all her breath through pursed lips like she was trying to stop herself from slipping into hysterics.

Mam never got mad. Never. One time Zach drove a cherry picker through the side of the barn—luckily, the boom was only extended a little, and the damage wasn’t so great the whole barn would imminently collapse like Alba swore it was going to—but Mam didn’t get angry. Nana got angry, but Mam just made Zach find replacement panels. She still never raised her voice.

And about six or seven years ago, when Alba told Mam she wasn’t staying with the pack after her twenty-fifth birthday, that she was going to live in Gwindur with some werewolf girl she’d met named Jade, Mam still didn’t get angry.

She wasn’t angry now either, I realised. I was bracing myself for impact, but instead, Mam shrunk in on herself. She was six foot three, but at that moment she could have been a child.

“I see,” she eventually said.

“I’m not ready, Mam.” I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready. “I love it here, and I love you all so much, but I never chose this.”

Her hand found my shoulder. “I know you didn’t, sunshine.” She let out a long sigh and a groan. “Okay, take a seat. Let’s have a chat.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down, and Mam placed the plate of chicken on the table. She took two highballs from the cupboard and filled them to the brim with chocolate milk.

“You’re never too old for chocolate milk.” She also sat.

I waited a full minute—possibly two—before I spoke, all the time mulling over how I would phrase it. Saying I wanted to do another degree would be a lie, and it didn’t feel right lying to Mam.

“I’m going to study for a PhD. It starts in September. Just after my birthday. I have a sponsor. I’ve been looking at places in Remy to rent long term.”

“You’re going to be a doctor?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, but I found myself wincing.

“Well, this is good news, I suppose. If you’re gonna temporarily reject the call, what better reason?” I could hear the relief in her voice.

She’d said “temporarily.” Not that I planned on rejecting it indefinitely, but I already felt like I was on borrowed time and I hadn’t turned twenty-five yet.

“So . . . a doctor of . . . what will you be studying?”

“Dendrology. Trees.”

Mam took a big swig of her chocolate milk, though I got the sense she was buying herself more thinking time. “Well, that’ll come in handy on the reserve.”

I said nothing. Kept quiet.

“Is this what you want?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer. At least not honestly.

She waited a few moments. “Your father never wanted this either, and neither did I. I never imagined when I fled my pack at age eighteen I’d end up becoming an alpha’s mate—a beta for one of the most influential packs in Lykos. He kept saying we should run, run away from all of this . . . go to Borderlands and live the rest of our lives somewhere far, far away from his responsibilities.”

“What happened? Why did he change his mind?”

“Oh, he didn’t change his mind. Nana Rita won’t tell you this, but we ran. Not all the way to Borderlands, but to Gwindur.”

“Oh my gods. Why has nobody ever told me this?”

Mam shrugged. “People want to make it seem like everything is perfect and everybody is happy all the time, but that’s not real life.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we were gone for three years. We left when your father was twenty-four and I was twenty-two. We came back because I got pregnant with Clem, and after eighteen months we—together—decided we missed this place too much. You know the saying, it takes a village to raise a child? Well, that was us, I guess. We couldn’t make it work. Your father had two jobs. I was trying to work from home, but woodworking machinery and newborns don’t mix. It also became clear to your father the alpha role would not automatically shift to your uncle. So we came back, and your father accepted the call, and we didn’t have to worry about starving to death again. So that was nice.”

I laughed. “What did Nana say?”

“Oh, Rita was pissed. Absolutely fuming.” She must have seen the worry in my expression because she added, “This is different, though. Rita had no clue when, or even if we’d come back. You will come back, won’t you? How long is a PhD?” Mam grabbed my hand. She wasn’t asking, she was pleading.

I decided not to answer the first of her questions, because I honestly didn’t know when or if I’d be back. “It’s four years.”

“Four years and you’ll be a doctor?”

“Yeah.”

Mam was quiet for a little while, drank some more of her milk. “You could always ask him to move here with you, you know?”

“Who?”

She cocked her head towards the west side of the house, towards my bedroom, where no doubt Cian was sleeping on the lower bunk after having won the rock-paper-scissors match for the third night in a row.

“Oh, right. Yeah, we’re not like that. We’re just friends.”

Mam opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again without saying anything.

I took a chicken thigh from the plate and bit into it, unsure about what I should do or say now, how much to admit, or even how much to admit to myself.

I’d enjoyed our kiss last night. Hadn’t stopped thinking about it . . . about how soft Cian’s lips were, how solid his body felt, how he tasted, the little moans he’d made, how his erection pushed insistently against my own.

Was I bi now? Did I like guys? I tried to imagine myself with another dude—any other. I couldn’t. Even attempted to picture myself with Timothy Everhart, Ci’s favourite actor, objectively a very attractive man. I got nothing. Not even a semi.

It was only Cian, only my best friend who drew these . . . curiosities out of me.

Mam took my empty milk glass away and put it inside the dishwasher. “If anything changes between you two, know that he’ll always be welcome in our pack.”

I nodded, but didn’t quite know what to say to that, so I shoved the rest of the chicken into my mouth.

“These things take time to figure out.” Mam ran her fingers through my hair, laid a kiss at my temple. “But not too long, okay? I’m not sure how much longer I can hold your nana back. She might seem like she’s more than happy up there in alpha land, but soon she’ll be too old to shift. She’s ready to hand the reins over.”

I wiped the chicken grease from my mouth with my fist and closed my eyes. Mam continued to finger comb my hair.

I’d never once said anything to anyone that would in any way come across as ungrateful or rude or disapproving of werewolf culture. I knew things worked in a certain order, and I had never dreamed of questioning it.

Until now.

“Why me, though?” My voice was a whisper. Even then, it caught on the last word.

Why me? Why not Clem, or Zach, or somebody else? Why me, the youngest of five?

Mam didn’t have an answer, not that I expected her to. “I’m sorry, baby.” She cradled my head to her chest. She didn’t need to tell me these things happened for a reason, that there was an order to be followed. I understood. And she knew I understood.

But she also knew I needed a few moments to grieve for my freedom.