THIRTY-NINE
Xander
WILHELMINA IS ABSOLUTELY ecstatic. Her eyes are raking over the excavator with such raw desire, I’m feeling a little jealous of the heavy machinery, and there may be drool leaking out of one side of her mouth.
Swinging my gaze between my new competition for my mate’s attention and the garage, a ball of unease knots in my stomach. I’m not sure what this will bring. Will it truly be enough to erase the pain? Is there any point in taking it down? Looking down at my mate, who’s let me hold her, drag her, usher her, and touch her however I’ve needed today without complaint, but rather with loving easy acceptance, I open myself to her and insist, “Explain , il mio cuore .”
She cranes head back, and her eyes settle on my mouth as I nibble on my bottom lip, waiting for her answer. Her cheeks flush, and my dick twitches (screw you, excavator). She flicks her gaze to meet my eyes, and she giggles. “Okay, explanation.” Using her free hand, she begins counting. “One: I don’t see any benefit to leaving it up. It will always represent something painful and horrific, plus it’s not in good condition anymore and could be considered a hazard.” Bringing our joined hands up, she kisses mine and lifts two fingers with her other hand. “Two: the garage as it stands, is a tomb or a memorial to those events and memories. There are plenty of reminders of what happened. No need to keep them all.” Three fingers rise up. “Three: Taking it down doesn’t mean you have to feel the pressure to automatically let go of everything you endured.” She dramatically rolls her eyes and slaps the air in front of her scoffing, “That’s totally unrealistic and not how we process trauma.” She spins her body into mine, and her hand lands on my chest. Her eyes soften, and her voice becomes serious. “It can mean or not mean whatever you choose, Alexander. If it brings shit up, I’ll be with you, and so will Jax and Ethan.”
That is my biggest fear: that the memories I managed to bury deep within the recesses of my mind will be dredged up. Too much happened to me to bury them all, but certain details, specific words spoken, and hurt feelings of a little boy, I have managed to suffocate. Would this unearth those feelings and memories? And I’m concerned about my inability to manage those memories—because that’s why I buried them. Glancing over at Jax and Ethan, I see their eyes are already on me. Both of them give me a nod, and Jax affirms, “We’ll be here X. We’ll be right here with you.”
Ethan slips his fingers into the front pockets of black pants, and his gaze drifts toward the garage. His eyes harden, and his lips press into a thin line. Looking back at me, he lifts one brow. “Whatever you decide, just ask yourself what feeling you’re basing your decision on.” He lifts a shoulder. “That’s all.”
Fear. If I don’t take it down, it’s because I’m afraid. But that would be letting fear rule me. Looking at the structure, I can’t help but agree with Billie’s earlier assessment: it’s a shamble of what it used to be. Our main house, a plantation-style home, is meticulously maintained. Freshly painted every two years, the white is so bright, it makes fresh snow look gray. The black wooden shutters shine like black gold, and the large urn planters on either side of the double front doors are always filled with seasonal plants.
But the detached secondary garage in the back of the property? It’s been left alone to weather the harsh elements of the White Mountains. You can tell it was originally just as beautiful as the house. But now there are dozens of slate tiles missing from the roof. The white paint is not just chipping but peeling off. The side carport is collapsing on one corner, and the rolling doors are uneven, having succumbed to ice expanding and melting under the pavement during the seasons. In a word, it’s dilapidated , and I wonder if my fear is what has held the structure together. I don’t want to come back here, see it standing, and know that I was too afraid to tear it down. That my own terror was the steel support beam.
Looking down at Wilhelmina, I realize she’s also right in that keeping the garage as it is will not help me process the trauma. If anything, it will keep my past suffering cemented here in the present. I open my mouth, about to agree, when I notice the twinkle in her eyes. She gives my chest a few hard pats and gleefully says, “Four: demolition is like a controlled symphony of destruction , man!” Her absolute joy about demolition causes several of the surrounding pack members to break out into unexpected laughter.
I release my mother’s hands so I can hold the back of my mate’s head. Tilting it up, I kiss her deeply and smile. “Hell yeah. It’s time to tear the fucker down.”
* * *
I’m sitting in the captain’s chair inside the cabin of the excavator, waiting for my mate. I needed to not only receive a thorough explanation and demonstration from the construction equipment operator but also had to show relative competency in how it works. Stan, the CEO, will be standing nearby close enough to press the emergency stop button that’s located on the outside of the machine and reachable from the ground. My mother spent the hour or so it took for my training to close out sales and escort out non-family, with the exception of the elders and Jax’s father. Then she locked the iron gates at the end of the driveway.
Glimpsing out the door, I catch sight of Wilhelmina hurriedly shoving a hard hat on, giggling like a young pyromaniac about to visit the fire department for the first time, while she scurries over as fast as she can in her high heels. Getting up from the chair, I bend over and reach my hand out to take hold of hers, helping her climb up. I sit back down, and she closes the door before straddling one of my legs facing forward. Clapping her hands, she twists around to me, her glowing face almost completely taken up by what may be the widest toothy smile I’ve ever seen from such a small mouth. Her eyes sparkle with delight as she squeals, “Are you ready Xander?”
My hand runs the full length of her inner thigh. Cupping her crease, I reach my middle finger farther back and begin to rub her seam until the scent of orange blossoms drifts up into the air. Nuzzling my smiling lips into the soft flesh of her neck, I murmur, “Now I’m ready.”
She releases a strangled moan, and I move my hands to the controls. I’m about to start when Wilhelmina adjusts her position, sitting higher up on my thigh, which has her ass caressing the bulge in my pants, causing me to grunt.
“Oh... sorry,” she mockingly apologizes. “I just wanted to sit up so I could see everything.”
“Sit as high as you like, mate,” I reply with a nip of her ear. “So long as it’s on my lap.”
I start moving the boom into position. Once it’s set, I extend the arm toward the garage, and Billie comments, “If it gets hard—”
Flicking my gaze from my hands to the excavator, I slant a smile and interject, “Too late, Wilhelmina.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Totally set you up for that one.”
I nod into the crook of her neck and speckle a few kisses along her tender flesh. Bracing her hands on my thighs, she clarifies. “What I meant is, if it gets tough emotionally, just focus on the task, Alexander. Not what it represents.”
Pausing, I inhale and take a few seconds to let this moment, this connection, solidify into my memory. In the depth of my soul, I know that no matter what I may experience, I will come through anything, with her on my lap, with my pack-mates’ support. So long as we stay together, we’ll be okay. This moment, like the one at the service earlier, will become keystone memories of the strength of our relationship.
I take her advice from the start. My emotions and my wolf have just about reached the limit of my control. Like someone managing a full cup of steaming hot coffee, one stumble or one absent-minded movement could have the boiling liquid sloshing over burning my hand. Now I carefully pour those emotions into the task at hand, taking that unstable energy and reshaping it into cognitive focus. My concentration is split between my fingers working the controls and my eyes on the arm and the bucket, taking down the side structures first. There are hoots and hollers from outside as the modified side car port begins to topple. Wilhelmina is bouncing in my lap, but most of my attention is required for what I’m doing. Next, I work on demolishing the already caved-in roof, pushing it inward from several angles. Then I move on to one of the side walls, pushing the moss-covered, white-painted cinderblocks toward the center, starting from the top and working my way down. I swing the boom up and over to the other side and repeat the process. I’m amazed by how delicate and precise I have to be with the controls. Each small movement inside creates a massive one outside, a concept that begs to be unraveled and examined later.
Most of my focus is on what I’m doing. But as the dust and debris begin to swirl and cloud in the air, the familiar odors of cool cement, gasoline, oil, and old wood reach me. An icicle of old fear freezes down my spine as the potpourri stings my nose, bringing forth the olfactory memory of burning flesh. I burrow my face into her neck. She opens for me, and I inhale her—clementines and ocean spray. The banging and clattering of whatever was left inside elicits auditory memories of tools and yard equipment crashing to the ground and on top of me after being thrown into the wall, workbench, or tool chest. Hearing the wooden beams creak, crack, and break, I recall the breaking and fracturing of my bones. I force my ears to seek a different sound find something else to hear. It’s too loud for me to hear the birds, but there is plenty of clapping and cheering going on outside.
A tinkling giggle rings in my ears, and I let it pull on my attention. My mate is cheering and giggling with absolute joy and—what the hell is she saying?
“Xander’s taken the helm with ease, in today’s battle of Excavator versus Garage,” she announces in a sportscaster voice. “This is his first time at the controls, but there’s a methodical confidence to his approach. As they say in hockey, slow is smooth, and smooth is fast , and Xander’s definitely proving to be a smooth operator out here today!” She cackles, “A modern-day Sade!” She slaps her thigh and gestures a thumb to herself. “This excavator assistant has full faith in his ability to complete the job laid out before him, without any major property damage or harm to the onlookers!” Then she pats her chest several times while laughing. “Holy feck! I am so funny!”
I once again find myself looking at her with amused confusion and love. So much fucking love. Her hard hat falls off her head and clatters on the steel floor as she bends over, holding and gripping her stomach, her body all but convulsing from her cracking herself up. When she finally gets a hold of herself, she uncurls herself and leans all the way back into my torso with the side of her head resting on the crook of my shoulder. Her face is absolutely radiant, and tears of laughter are rolling down her rosy cheeks. Her gleaming eyes bop around my face. She lifts her hand and lightly brushes one finger over my lips. Her touch brings awareness to my mouth and the stretch of lips from my own wide smile. My hand comes up to hold her jaw, and I trace her smile with my thumb, only to see and feel it grow under my touch. I relish the vibration of her giggles under my hand and the warmth of her breath on my callused skin.
“Fuck,” I choke out a chuckle and shake my head. “Ready to finish this demo and get the hell out of here?” I ask.
She laughs even harder and nods. “Excavator is totally gonna win this battle!”