Chapter 8 #3
now . . . I think I’d choose the mountain lion.
“Are you sure this is him? He doesn’t look Irish,” the one in the middle asks, his nose wrinkling. “And fuck, did none of
you ask how tall he was? This guy is huge.”
“Why does Everly always find the tall ones?” the one on the left with longer hair asks, turning to look at the two men he’s
standing with.
“It’s three against one,” the scary one on the right croaks. “Doesn’t matter how tall he is.” Silence falls over us for a
moment before he barks, “Who are you?”
I jump and clear my throat, rolling my shoulders back to feign confidence. “I’m Wolf . . . or . . . or Conri.”
“Don’t know your own name?” the scary one asks.
I shake my head firmly.
“Then what is it? Wolf or Conri? Which one we using.”
I flinch as a flash of my past rushes to the front of my mind.
“Oi, Wolfhound!” the kids at school jeer, circling like a pack of scraggy terriers. “Bet ye sniff out yer dinner in the bins
like the rest of the mutts.”
I’m eight and all knobby knees and tiny fists balled tight enough to leave crescents in my palms. Mam has patched my jumper
three times this term alone, and every stitch feels like a sign on my back saying Kick Me.
One of the boys shoves my shoulder hard enough to send me skidding down to the gravel. The sound of lads laughing at my expense echoes in my ears as I taste blood in my mouth and a sharp sting burns from where I bit my tongue.
“Say something, Wolfhound!” another sneers, taller than me by a head, reeking of crisps and body odor.
Heart hammering in my chest, I do what he asks. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, look him dead in the eye, and say, “Steady on.
Even a hound will bite if you back it into a corner.”
My reply is a bad idea because even though I got one swing in . . . they get in ten times more, making that blood in my mouth
triple in volume by the end of it.
I blow out a long breath and force myself to stand tall and not allow myself to be triggered back to memories of schoolyard
bullies. Back to memories when I was begging for puberty to hit while the rest of the lads in my class towered over me. But
I haven’t been that young, weak boy in many years, and I’m not about to let these bearded brothers get a leg up on me.
“My name is Wolf,” I state confidently as I straighten to my full height.
His eyes twitch. “Wolf Reilly?”
I nod and then flinch when the guy’s hand comes toward me, but then I see that he’s just offering it for me to shake. “I’m
Wyatt Fletcher. Welcome to my mountain.”
His grip is bone-crushing, but I meet it back with my own strength, summoning my years of rugby training. They caught me with
my trousers down a second ago, but I’m recovered now.
“Thanks for having me,” I reply with a bit more pride in my voice.
“I’m Calder,” the middle one says jovially, like he wasn’t just eyeing me into an early grave moments ago. He grabs my hand
and gestures next to him. “This is Luke. You can ignore him.”
“No, you can’t,” Luke says, shaking my hand next. His eyes narrow as he leans in close. “My cabin is closest to Everly’s, and I’d like to inform you that I’ve taken up birdwatching, so watching is all I do.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” Calder says under his breath.
“How old are you?” Wyatt asks, his brows furrowed as he eyes me up and down.
“I’m twenty-two,” I answer honestly.
“He doesn’t look twenty-two.” Calder steps back and tilts his head. “Fuck, man, what’s your workout routine? I didn’t look
like this at twenty-two. Is this all from rugby, or do you do weights too?”
“Bet he can’t grow a beard,” Luke mumbles petulantly.
“Go ahead and buy those condoms.” Wyatt’s eyes twinkle with death. Straight murderous death.
“Yeah, don’t let us stop you.” Calder chuckles and covers his mouth with his fist.
A hush falls over us as they all wait to see what I’m going to do. This is a test. A test that I’m probably going to fail
because I have no idea what the fuck is going on. I’m just about ready to reach back and grab them to show these guys that
I won’t be intimidated when a shrill voice yells, “Hey!” and breaks all our focus.
I turn to see my new boss marching toward us, practically dragging a toddler by the hand behind her. She stops right next
to me and directs her ire toward the flannelled terrifiers.
“What the hell are you three doing? You were supposed to pick up the cake. Did it really take all three of you? Everly already
arrived, and you missed her big entrance.”
The three mountain brothers step back and drop their heads in shame.
“I see what’s going on here,” Trista says, pointing to me and then back to them. “They freaking you out? Trying to scare you
off?”
My jaw clenches as I glance back at them, unwilling to confirm her accusation but unwilling to deny it either.
“Look at me. All three of you,” she snaps, turning her back to me as she addresses the three grown men in front of her like
they’re the wee little girl she has clutching her finger. “We talked about all this. Wolf is my responsibility. None of yours.
You’re not doing that scary-protective-uncle bit with him, okay? He’s my employee, and he’s here to work. He’s not here to
screw your adult niece. And he’s certainly not here for you to terrify. Got it?”
They begin to argue back with her, but I’m distracted by the conversation when something sharp presses into my quad. I look
down to see the child that Trista is holding on to is now poking the wolf tattoo peeking out from my shorts on my thigh. She’s
all chestnut curls and chubby cheeks and stares up at me with the kind of confidence that suggests perhaps she runs the mountain,
not these three uncles of Everly’s.
The corner of my mouth tips up into a smile, and she grins back, the two of us having a quiet moment before her mam bends
over and picks her up. “Go to Dad. He needs a chaperone, apparently.”
“Way to go, Papa Bear. You got us in trouble,” Calder grumbles.
“I didn’t drag you in here with me,” Wyatt barks as he hoists the little girl up on his shoulders as they begin to walk away
from me.
“Birdwatching is not creepy . . .” the third one named Luke adds, following them down the aisle.
Trista turns on her heel and blows a curly strand of hair out of her face. “Three grown men to pick up a cake.” She offers
me an apologetic smile. “You okay? You need a cookie? A therapy session? A time machine to take back the decision to move
here?”
I sniff and shake my head. “I’m alright.”
“Good. Come on and let me take you next door to the party. You’ll be safe with me.” She pauses as she looks around. “Unless
there was something you needed to buy first?”
I lick my lips and set the protein bar back on the shelf before giving a lingering look to the condoms. “I can come back later.”
And I leave those condoms exactly where they are and where they might have to remain.
So much for a comeback season.