28. Phil
Phil
“W hen do you think Uncle Sed will get home?” Dillon squirmed on his seat, Ruthie was still next to him at the table, but she’d started moving her chair a little farther over.
Sedrick and I’d noticed, but neither of us had said a word about it to Ruthie.
I was cautiously optimistic that it was a good sign.
“I’m not sure,” I answered while placing a second hamburger on his plate.
Dillon’s appetite had increased in the last few weeks.
I wasn’t sure how much werewolf children should eat, but Sedrick had been pleased when I’d informed him of the change.
Since Dillon didn’t share his food with Ruthie as much, I gave her another hamburger too.
“The mine is very busy right now,” I finally added.
“Yeah, I know.” Dillon pouted, kicking his legs back and forth, creating a beat with his tennis shoes every time his heel hit the wooden chair. “I just wish he could be here more.”
I did too but didn’t admit it. The house didn’t seem as settled when Sedrick was gone. I could feel it in my bones—a sort of discontent. It was an odd feeling, like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
Walking back to the kitchen, I stopped and placed a hand on a nearby wall.
The house pulsed through my veins with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude.
I tried to send it reassuring vibes. Sedrick would be home soon.
Sedrick hadn’t told me much about his work and what was happening at the mine, but I knew something exciting was happening.
But that excitement was tempered by a lot of hard work.
Sedrick often came home physically exhausted and very dirty.
I didn’t mind the dirt. I did mind that he appeared to be pushing himself too hard.
The lock on the front door twisted, and Sedrick walked in. He wasn’t as dirty as usual, but he looked even more tired than the last couple of days.
“Uncle Sed!” Dillon popped off his chair, hamburger forgotten. Ruthie scrambled off her chair too. They each grabbed a thigh and squeezed. Sedrick’s massive legs were large enough to accommodate both of them, and my cheeks flushed with the realization.
“Hey, brat,” Sedrick teased, ruffling Dillon’s hair and lifting Ruthie into the air.
“Not a brat,” Dillon admonished while vigorously running his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it.
“No, you’re not.” Sedrick readily agreed, making Dillon beam up at him. “You guys just getting started or just finishing dinner?” Sedrick walked toward the table, Ruthie still in his arms. He set her feet down on her chair, and she wiggled until she was sitting.
“Just finishing,” I answered for Dillon.
“They’re both on their second hamburger.
Do you need to wash up, or would you like a plate now?
” I headed for the kitchen, ready to plate Sedrick’s dinner.
The house hummed, low and content in the back of my mind.
Sedrick was home, safely tucked inside our walls, at least for another night.
“I just need to wash my hands, then I’ll help.”
I waved him off, already getting three burgers and placing them on his plate. Unlike Ruthie and Dillon, Sedrick didn’t want a bun. “I’ve got it. I just—”
“Phil,” Sedrick’s breath whispered across my exposed neck, making me shiver. “I’d like to help.” Sedrick reached around me, cradling my body within his, my back to his chest. Sedrick was so large, so broad and all-encompassing. He made me feel small, something I’d always craved.
My heart fluttered, tripping over itself. Sedrick rested his chin on my head, his thick, muscular arms wrapped around me as his hands placed the fixings on his hamburgers. When he was finished, Sedrick pulled away, leaving my backside cold.
“Have you eaten?” Sedrick asked.
It was as if my brain had short-circuited and took more than a few seconds to come back online to register the question. “I have,” I finally managed. “I had a salad.”
Sedrick gave his typical snort at my vegetarian ways but didn’t say anything else. “Come, sit down at the table with us.”
How could I refuse? I followed Sedrick and sat on the stool he’d purchased for me, one that was backless and gave my wings more room.
When I sat, Sedrick traced his finger down the damaged part of my wing, making them flutter uncontrollably.
He just chuckled and waved his hand through the pink dust.
“Looks like it’s healing well,” Sedrick said before taking a bite of his dinner.
“It is. I can hardly tell there was any damage at all.” I wasn’t lying. My wing had healed very well. I wasn’t sure if it was Healer Hue’s ointment or just my natural healing abilities. Probably a little bit of both.
“That’s good.” Sedrick hummed around his food, devouring it and asking Dillon and Ruthie questions between bites.
Dillon answered quickly and explained things with a flourish. Ruthie grinned, nodded, and giggled here and there.
Peace and happiness dug their tendrils deep into my core, latching on and gripping tight. Content, I sat there and listened to their back-and-forth. I was so engrossed that I barely heard the tune of my cell phone ring.
“You gonna get that, Phil? Or are you gonna let it go to voice mail?” Dillon cocked his head to the side and asked. Leave it to werewolf hearing.
I scrambled out of my seat. I didn’t get a lot of calls, especially this late. Most likely, it was Peaches calling to ask if I planned to spend the night at Sedrick’s again. My face heated at the thought. Sedrick had already said he wanted me to stay for as long as I wanted—permanently if possible.
I found my phone on the kitchen counter. I convinced myself it would be Peaches, so I didn’t bother to check the caller ID and was surprised when I heard my mom’s voice on the other end.
“Phil, honey, am I disturbing you?”
I glanced at the clock. California was in a different time zone, four hours earlier, just a little after three in the afternoon.
“No, Mom. You’re never a bother.” I walked farther into the kitchen, leaving Sedrick and the kids to finish dinner. “It’s always good to hear your voice.” That wasn’t a lie, but my mom’s voice sounded slightly more strained than usual. “Is everything okay?”
My mom was silent for a few seconds, and I was just getting ready to ask again when she said, “I’m going to put you on speaker, Phil. Your dad is right here beside me.”
I straightened and fidgeted with the edge of a roll of paper towels. It wasn’t unusual for Mom to place me on speaker, but she hadn’t answered my question first.
“Hey, Phil. How’s it going?” My dad’s words were right, but the usual, jovial quality they held was gone.
“I’m good. How about you?” I tried again.
My dad cleared his throat, and I could barely make out a whispered conversation between him and Mom before my mom’s voice came back. “Something happened today.”
My heart dropped, and I gripped the paper towels. “What? Are you guys okay? Are you hurt or—”
“No,” my dad quickly clarified. “Your mom and I are fine physically. We just . . . we had a visitor earlier.”
“You make her sound like a wanted guest,” My mom scolded my dad. “Lawyers are hardly ever wanted.”
“Lawyers?” I was even more confused than before.
“I’m sorry, honey, I misspoke. It was just the one,” my mom answered.
“One’s more than enough.” Dad sounded even more disgusted. “Especially when they start spouting nonsense and getting your mother all riled up.”
“Me?” My mom’s voice went up an octave. “I wasn’t the one that threw her out of the house.”
“Technically, that wasn’t me either,” Dad argued back. “It was our home’s decision.”
Blessed silence disrupted their bickering until Mom sighed and gave a reluctant, “That’s true. Most likely all three of us are to blame for being rude.”
My dad scoffed and spoke off to the side. He often did that when he cursed as if I wouldn’t understand or was still too young to hear that kind of language. Some parents were like that, and their child’s age didn’t change it.
Anxiety ate away at my core. They’d said a lot but still hadn’t told me anything. “What did the lawyer want?”
My dad mumbled again, his voice strained and distant.
I caught a few words that would have impressed Dillon before my mom shushed him and told Dad to go into the other room if he couldn’t control his temper.
A few minutes later, my mom’s voice was all that was left.
“And he says I’m the one that’s all riled up. ” Mom sighed dramatically.
I felt like I might explode. “Mom, what did—”
“She said we don’t own the house.” Mom’s words hit me like a boulder to the chest.
I stood there, staring at the cabinet in front of me. I heard her words. They weren’t spoken in a foreign language. Regardless, they didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean? You and Dad have owned that house since before I was born. More than that, you’re bonded to it. You—”
“Oh, I know, dear. And that’s exactly what we told her. Your father went to our safe, pulled out the deed, and shoved it in her fairy face.”
“Well then,” I sighed with relief, “that should be the end of it.”
Mom’s silence spoke otherwise, and anxiety began creeping back in again.
“Mom, that was the end of it, right?”
“I wish that was true, Philodendron.” My parents rarely called me by my full name.
“The lawyer had documents of her own. I . . . I don’t know much about that kind of thing, and neither does your father, but it looked official.
I’m not sure. I . . .” Mom’s voice trailed off in a low whine of distress.