Trapp #2
“Then we overheard the two geezers who argue over the crossword every morning bemoaning how disappointing it is to hear that you’ve been so unchivalrous this week — that’s sixteen across, by the way.
That poor, sweet human probably left town in shame, probably caught you in bed with one of the other teachers. ”
“What?!”
“Also, how did I not know that you used to get so worked up over failing exams in school that you would angry-cry at the front of the lecture hall? Evidently, you punched a professor for not giving you a passing grade. That’s the reason you came home, because you probably flunked out and the family was too ashamed to admit it. ”
“I was at the top of my class!” He was breathing hard, shouting, he realized, when the brooding reptilian next door peered over the hedges suspiciously, the iguana he was walking poking its head through for good measure.
Grayson was still laughing. “So I repeat — what the fuck happened? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything! This is all because of that bitch at the clinic,” he raged.
“Fucking Adriana, from med school. Who your friend hired, by the way. Next time I see Shay, I’m kneecapping him in the fucking parking lot.
She was in the coffee shop talking about me to Xenna.
None of that is true! Not that it matters.
Xenna did this, you know she can’t keep anything to herself. ”
“But it’s not not true, Trapp.” Grayson shook his head derisively.
“Have you learned literally nothing from me all these years? You get one fuck up at a time, and they need to be pretty well-spaced fuck-ups at that. You’re going to wreck shop on your personal life?
Things had better be immaculate professionally.
Problems at work? You’d better be making everyone at home happy.
Your girlfriend dumped you. Boo fucking hoo.
You didn’t need to go out and fuck half the town in seventy-two hours.
You did that all on your own, champ. Now you’ve got some ghost of your past kicking skeletons out of your closet, and, oh, that’s right, it sounds like you could have dealt with her before she even got the job. ”
“You know my phone was—”
“Then you get it fixed,” Grayson interrupted, devoid of sympathy. “Act like a fucking adult and know what day of the week it is.”
He dragged his hands over his face in an effort to keep himself from taking a swing at Grayson’s jaw. “How do I fix this? You’re the family fixer. What do I do? Tell me how I fix this.”
Grayson’s rough laughter bounced across the wide, green front lawn.
“You don’t, Trapp. There’s nothing to fix.
Who the fuck cares? It’s just gossip; there will be someone new to talk about next week.
This will go away on its own, as long as you don’t make it fucking worse.
And it comes with the benefit of me getting to watch you squirm until it does.
I, for one, am delighted by this turn of events. ”
“You can’t fucking tell me there’s nothing I can do!
” He was shouting again, but he didn’t care.
The thought of having to endure thin smiles and hard eyes indefinitely was untenable.
It wasn’t just gossip. This was his reputation on the line.
He was Trapp, local hero, everyone’s friend.
Who was he, if he was not the Hemming everyone liked?
The front door swung open, Owen’s head popping out, eyebrows raised. “Uh, everything okay out here? If you guys are fighting, let me grab my phone real quick.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Trapp grumbled, shouldering past his younger brother into the house, Grayson continuing to laugh behind him.
Brunch resumed once they took their seats, voices chattering across the table as a bottle of champagne was passed for mimosas, the conversation turning to the wedding.
“What about the muffin shop?” Jackson asked, consulting a checklist on his phone. Grayson’s spectacle of a wedding was distributing money around the entirety of the business district, every single shop on Main Street getting a piece of the pie, no matter how small.
“Ordered for the day-after brunch,” Vanessa confirmed.
At the end of the table, Trapp watched as their father’s attention was pulled by the silent buzz of a notification from his phone, where it rested face-down beside his plate. Jack turned the phone, simultaneously lifting his champagne flute to his lips, reading silently.
The conversation continued, Jackson and Grayson bickering over the running tally of business distribution, but Trapp was watching their father. The phone went back to the table, face down once more, champagne swallowed, Jack’s eyes meeting his.
“Fucking Tris,” he choked out, unable to hold the thought in.
He already knew who the message was from, what it said, how it made him look.
Tris Tatterswain was a parasite, at the scene of every crime, sticking his goaty nose into everyone’s business .
. . but he was a parasite on the Hemming payroll.
Jackson broke off, eyebrows coming together, as Gray’s head whipped to their father, already a step ahead in the conversation.
“Sounds like you’ve had a busy week,” Jack said simply, filling his fork.
Grayson snorted, almost choking on his eggs Benedict.
“This is all because of that lying mongrel at the clinic,” Trapp growled through clenched teeth. “I didn’t do anything!”
Jack shrugged, holding Trapp’s eye. “It sounds like you did plenty.”
“What’s going on?” their mother asked, innocent concern furrowing her brows.
“What do you think about the reflecting pool, Sandi?” Vanessa cut in cleanly, directing the question to her future mother-in-law, saving Trapp twice in the space of thirty minutes. “Is it necessary? Or is your son being ridiculous?”
“Hey, will Cecily be walking by the ceremony?” Grayson mused, thankfully following Vanessa’s lead. “Kids walk by the time they’re two, right? Do we think she’ll be able to hold a basket? Because we haven’t matched up the wedding party yet, and I could do the funniest thing to Lowell.”
Their father rolled his eyes as Victoria huffed at Grayson and Owen laughed, the topic of conversation fully routed.
Trapp breathed out slowly. Perhaps he wasn’t losing his person at all.
He might even be gaining additional backup, he thought as Vanessa met his eye quickly with an almost imperceptible nod.
It was a relief to leave his parents’ house that day, a relief to climb into his own bed, telling himself if he slept, this might all turn out to be a bad dream.
. . . At least, until the following day, when the very first call of his shift, an elderly wolf with a bad hip was directed to the urgent care clinic.
“The patient is eighty-two,” he pushed back. “Are we sure Healers wouldn’t be better—”
“Are you arguing with me?” the dispatcher demanded, a dryad he’d known all his life.
Trapp swallowed hard, forcing himself to internalize Grayson’s words. You’re going to fuck up your personal life? Things had better be immaculate professionally. He had no idea which gossip thread had reached whose ears, and he couldn’t afford to squander any more goodwill.
“Of course not, Relinda. Orders received; we’re en route.”
Oleg, at least, seemed blissfully unaware there was anything amiss as they rolled the grumpy geriatric werewolf into the clinic.
“I’m just saying, Hemming, if you don’t take the top waiver wire, we’re giving the season to the guys over at Station Two in Starling Heights,” the troll droned, guiding the wheels through the doorway, having spent the whole drive chattering away about a local fantasy ketterling draft Trapp couldn’t care less about.
She was there, because fucking of course she was there.
Trapp watched Adriana Brunelli stiffen as the automatic doors pulled open.
It was annoying how good she looked. He’d found her pretty in med school, part of the reason he’d pursued her in the first place, but now .
. . she seemed softer now, the hard brashness she’d led with the whole time they were in school buffed away.
The emergency department will do that, probably.
Her skin was paler than it had been, likely owing to years of long shifts and no sun, and the contrast between her moon-white neck and the thick waterfall of black hair she had pulled behind her was striking.
He was struck with the memory of her that very first night at the library, all darting eyes and soft gasps, her panic that they would be caught catching in her throat as her fingers tightened in his hair.
He could almost still feel the trembling of her white thighs around his face as his tongue worked against her slick center, licking her cunt until she’d flooded his mouth, studying forgotten.
Her pale skin flushed with fire now, red moving over her cheeks, fists tightening at her sides as Trapp cleared his throat for Oleg to start the hand-off, shaking off any consideration for how lovely she was.
That was still the moon talking, the scent of her having invaded his nose too close to the turn, both deliciously familiar and excitingly foreign, leaving him achingly hard as his body shifted, desperate to fuck with no outlet to do so.
Don’t forget she’s the source of your problems. Get your head in the fucking game.
He forced himself to pay attention to Oleg’s recitation of old man Rudolph’s injuries when the troll was interrupted.
“I can’t accept a hand-off with abbreviated vitals,” she snapped, and any warm feelings nostalgia may have been brewing were immediately extinguished.
“He wasn’t finished,” Trapp countered. “And I correct him.”
Her spine lengthened, shoulders rolling back, as if she were attempting to stretch herself to meet his height. “I’m the attending physician in this clinic.”