Chapter 37
Tuesday hadn’t told anyone when she’d been seeing him. Not the day, not the pattern, not any of it. She’d kept Mondays to herself, but now her family and friends were filling her Mondays. Other days, too, but especially her Mondays.
Her brother took her to Top Golf on the first one back, which was exactly the kind of loud, competitive, low-stakes fun she needed. Their sibling rivalry was as strong as ever, and August kicked her ass while feeding her and filling her with drinks, talking shit the entire time.
And she loved him for it.
The following Monday, a cousin she hadn’t seen since Christmas invited her to a whiskey distillery tour and tasting in downtown Chattanooga.
They learned all about the process and then got to sample the goods after.
Their Aunt May drove them both ways to avoid legal questions.
Wolves can’t get drunk for long, but they also can’t explain that to the cops.
Tuesday drank good whiskey and kept thinking ‘cancel cancel’ every time a thought about Knife entered her mind.
Willow invited her to hike to Edward’s Point the following Monday, and that’s when she figured out this was coordinated.
She and Willow were friends, but not close friends. They saw each other at every pack gathering, but rarely did things together outside the pack.
But Willow texted on a Saturday afternoon, and Tuesday said yes without analyzing it too much.
On the trail, once away from the parking area, Tuesday let her wolf come up high in her psyche so she could enjoy the forest, too. Not fully forward, just present, taking in the layered smells of the mountain, the density of the many tree species on the upper slopes.
Willow moved well on the trail. She was a hawk shifter, which meant her relationship with elevation was different from a wolf’s.
She was comfortable with height in a way Tuesday respected without entirely sharing, but she’d also spent plenty of time on two legs in the woods, and they fell into a natural rhythm.
They talked about easy things on the way — Willow’s most recent ER rotation, a chaotic shift involving a man with scratches in places that really should’ve been clothed, and required reports to animal control and the park rangers about an aggressive raccoon in a state park.
They talked about a pack gathering coming up in June that Willow was excited about handling the logistics of. Tuesday talked about Miami, the ceviche she was proud of, the head chef in Paris who’d been an asshole at first, and then a charming asshole.
Eventually, the trail delivered them to Edward’s Point, with the river and valley spreading out below, the mountains rolling away in every direction, and Chattanooga visible in the distance like a tiny little diorama.
They sat on the warm cliff and ate the lunch Willow had packed with the thoroughness of a woman who fed three large wolves on a regular basis — sandwiches that were serious about their fillings, homemade potato chips, good cheese, and they finished it off with squares of watermelon and flaky salt.
Tuesday had offered to bring the food, but Willow had insisted, and she’d done well.
“Is the meat from Silas’s place?” Tuesday asked.
“Yeah. His sauce, too. Also his slaw. I added the melted sharp cheddar, the fried egg, and the crispy onions. Sometimes I pickle onions for sandwiches, but I thought the texture needed crispy onions today.”
“These are fantastic. Well done. The brioche buns are perfect, too.”
They talked about the view, and then they didn’t talk for a while, which was comfortable, just taking in the view while they ate.
Eventually, Willow said, “Kenny has a boss, you know.”
Tuesday looked at her, wondering where she was going. Cora was Kenny’s boss, alpha werewolf over eleven or so states. Every wolf in Chattanooga knew that.
Willow ate a potato chip and added, “Cora might be more understanding. Kenny puts pack first, but Cora sees the bigger picture. More than a single pack. She’s also a woman, and she’ll understand things a man might not get unless you beat him over the head with it, and that isn’t usually advised with Kenny. ”
And then Willow told Tuesday about the time Kenny and Boone had brought her to the point on dirt bikes, pointing behind them instead of toward the trail.
“I needed to fly, and they brought me here. It was… I don’t know, proof they understood my needs.
That they valued my hawk nature. It was in the early days, and it meant the world to me.
Kenny has his moments, but I figure Silas and Boone probably explain a lot of the emotional stuff to him. ”
“But Silas didn’t come?”
“I get Silas alone a few hours every day during the week, and I have the other two while Silas works on the weekends. It all works out. Boone and Kenny are mostly on the same schedule, but Silas is on his own. He has competent managers who handle things when he isn’t there, but he goes in for at least a couple of hours most every day the restaurant’s open. ”
“I have so many questions about how it works with three wolves and a hawk. Absolutely none of my business, but still.”
Willow laughed. “Kenny is all about rules and schedules, and that’s probably why it works so well.
Also, I work for five to ten days every month, and I’m gone the entire time.
It gives me a break from it all, because yeah, it’s a lot, living with three demanding wolves, but I wouldn’t change a thing. ”
“You love them. That’s clear.”
“I do.”
And Knife had told her he’d loved her.
But she hadn’t said it back. She desperately loved him, but what was the point in saying it when… shit.
Willow thought she was helping, offering a way to leave the pack without having to go to Kenny, but at least before, knowing it was doubtful Kenny would break her pack bonds, had made it truly impossible.
But now, with the knowledge Cora might do it…
It made her have a true decision to make, but she couldn’t leave her pack. She wouldn’t be the same person without them.
But… could she ever be whole without him?
They talked about hawk society and how it differs from wolf packs on the return hike, and that led to talk about what they knew of prides with a lion rex over all the reginas, which led to talk of how horses worked, with a single stallion and a bunch of mares.
“I think bears may have it best,” Tuesday said. “A choice of whether to be alone or part of a family group, but either way, your life is still your own. No restrictions on using magic just because you aren’t part of the pack.”
Tuesday thought about it on and off for three days and then put it away, because thinking about it meant admitting she was considering it, and she couldn’t truly consider leaving the pack.
Could she?
The following Monday, her grandmother took her to a teahouse that’d recently opened in a narrow Victorian building in an older part of the North Shore. It’d most recently been a lawyer’s office, but someone had turned it into a charming tearoom.
Her grandmother was in a lavender dress she’d probably owned back when Reagan was president, and Tuesday was in a wrap dress, wearing her pearl necklace and matching earrings. They both wore ridiculous hats and white gloves, and they weren’t the only ones doing so.
They ordered the full afternoon tea service and ate their way through the tiers with the focused pleasure of two women who took food seriously, and talked about family, the upcoming solstice gathering, and whether August’s girlfriend was going to survive the next family dinner without ketchup, because June was making a nice meal and was going to get rid of every bottle she owned for the event.
And then, over the second pot of Earl Grey, June set her cup down and looked at Tuesday a good ten seconds, her eyes doing that thing where they see everything, and she asked, “Would Knife be the same man without his club?”
Tuesday looked at her grandmother, alarmed she’d brought him into the conversation, but also not sure why she’d asked the question.
“If he wasn’t a biker,” her grandmother continued after taking another sip of tea. “If he’d never found his brothers, never built his life around that unique community…” She set her cup down and lifted a tiny cucumber sandwich. “Would he be the man you fell in love with?”
Tuesday opened her mouth.
“And,” her grandmother added, before Tuesday could answer, “would you be the same woman without your pack? The Tuesday who knows herself, who knows what she is and where she belongs — is that woman the one he fell in love with?”
She took a bite of the sandwich, swallowed and changed the subject. “Now, tell me what you left out about your hike with Willow.”
The questions about he-who-shouldn’t-be-named had been rhetorical, for Tuesday to answer to herself, so she gladly accepted the change in conversation.
“I’ve told you everything I intend to tell you about Willow. The most interesting thing I gleaned is that Kenny’s rules and schedules make everything work, but she didn’t tell me any details about those rules or schedules. I have a feeling you know way more than me, and you haven’t shared.”
“She takes him his lunch most every day. Also, she’s almost always in a dress or skirt.”
“She wore jeans for our hike,” Tuesday noted, “but yeah, around the house, I can’t remember ever seeing her in pants.”
Her grandmother lifted an eyebrow, clearly intimating that might be one of Kenny’s many rules, and Tuesday smiled. “I think Willow is a very lucky woman.”
“I’d say fortunate, but yes, I agree.”
They had a marvelous day, walking around the North Shore and shopping. They even rode the carousel, at her grandmother’s insistence, and enjoyed the little ice cream shop just before Tuesday drove her grandmother home.
She was on her way back to her apartment when her grandmother’s questions landed like a damned wrecking ball.
Because Knife wouldn’t be the man she fell in love with if he wasn’t a biker. If he wasn’t part of the club. Didn’t have his brothers.
She’d known it while watching him move through the party at Homewood with his brothers. She’d known it while staring at him across the food table.
She’d known it when she rode on the back of his bike on the way to and from Monteagle Mountain.
And she’d known it every Tuesday morning when she’d driven away from him.
The club wasn’t something he had. It was something he was — and she desperately loved who and what he was.
She pulled into her apartment complex and sat in the SUV for a long time, not bothering to wipe the tears streaming down her face.
She didn’t want him to be different. She wanted him exactly as he was — the butcher, the biker, the man who made trail mix with smoked almonds and raisins and drove three hours on a Monday because it was pretty and he wanted to see her.
She didn’t want to change him into someone else, and that’s what would happen if he left his club to be with her.
She wanted him exactly as he is.
Which meant the only question left was whether she was willing to turn herself into someone else to be with him.
Lone wolf. The very idea sounded terrifying, but legally, that’s what he was. His club filled in the difference. Could he make up the difference for her?
She sat in her car until she grew hungry, and then she went inside and cooked herself a hand-cut beef tartare, focusing on the rapid-cured egg yolk process, the precise knife work to get identical sized cubes of meat, and then the quick-pickled mustard seeds, the emulsification process, the flavor balancing, and finally, the assembling.
She enjoyed every bite, but she considered her options throughout the prep work and her wonderful meal.
She could look up the Homewood address without having to bring anyone else into her decision, or she could phone her grandmother, or Willow, and ask for Cora’s phone number — and then text her to request a phone call at Cora’s leisure.
When she finished eating, she went to her office and sat to compose a handwritten letter.
And then addressed the envelope and drove it to the nearest mailbox before she could change her mind.