Chapter 28 #2
We were digging holes to plant new shrubs and young trees for one of Gran’s many causes.
She had at least five on rotation. After we lost Pop, she’d gone on a solo trip to Alaska.
I’d followed, keeping an eye on her from a distance.
I wasn’t about to let my eighty-year-old grandmother roam polar bear territory alone.
Bellatrix had stayed home to look after Dad. Life fucking sucked.
When we came back, Gran had doubled down. New hobbies every week. We tried Tai Chi—easily the hardest thing I’d ever done. My toes still hurt when I stood on the tips. Yoga didn’t last long, either. I got kicked out for snoring too loudly during savasana.
At the cat shelter she volunteered with most weeks—or was it the homeless center?
—there were these two girls she was bent on introducing me to.
A human, Teresa. Some humans knew about us—some were even mated to us—but I avoided sleeping with them.
Too many variables. One wrong move, and I’d end up fracturing her hip. Months of rehab? No, thank you.
Then there was this other star girl. Gran often treated matchmaking like community service. Too bad I couldn’t think of anyone else but my Bunny Doc. Sorry, Gran.
And at least once a month, she dragged us here.
Gardening. Manual labor. Today happened to be right after our wereball training, which made it especially brutal.
Dirt under my nails, sweat dripping down my calves, and a hole in my stomach.
I was starving. I plucked a handful of waffles from my pocket as I stared up at the white four-story building, the same yellow flowers on each window. I had no idea what its name was.
Rose Bush was vast, with so many residents that it made me wonder if there were any seniors left in the rest of Montana.
The grounds were immaculate—flowers pruned, hedges groomed into wolf-like shapes, and nature tamed enough to be ready for a gallery.
So immaculate, sometimes I felt the need to mess things up a little.
Callum snorted. “What did you get at the bakery?”
I popped a shoulder in a shrug.
Killian ceased his groaning. “Yeah, my T-man, what did you get?”
Sometimes they did that weird twin thing—finishing each other’s sentences. Or they’d repeat the other’s line. “Just some almond croissants.”
“And where are they?”
“Yeah, where are they?”
See?
“Already eaten.”
I hope.
“But you don’t eat almonds!”
“Or croissants!
Killian slapped me. His arms worked again, apparently. “And you didn’t offer any.”
It was so damn hot outside. I yanked my shirt over my head and stuffed it into my back pocket. Now the sun had direct access to my skin, slow-roasting me like a sacrificial cut of wolf meat.
Callum nodded past me. “Five o’clock. You’ve got fans.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and leaned against my shovel.
Five ladies in matching wide sun hats, dressed in so many florals I initially thought they were actual flower pots, sat around a garden table.
Gran was among them, playing bridge with Edna, her bestie who used to give me candies before she graduated to joints. They were the only ones not ogling.
“Take yours off, C. Give the girls something to hold onto through the winter.”
He flushed, eyes averting, and dug with more strength.
I chuckled. “You won’t cheat on that imaginary mate of yours if you show your abs once.”
“Yo, beautiful ladies!” Killian shouted. He dropped his shovel, lifted the hem of his shirt, and dragged it across his face. The ladies eyed his tattoos and giggled. When the fabric fell back into place, he winked at us.
“Quite a display there, Killy!”
He bumped his chest. “I made them myself.”
Just then, my phone buzzed with a new text. A picture of Bunny Doc holding a to-go matcha in her tiny hands. I imagined my cock—
Shut the fuck up.
“Why are you smiling?” Callum lunged for my phone.
I swatted his arm away without looking up, flexing my fingers before I typed to my sister instead.
Want to come get a matca with me? Tomorrow?
Bellatrix replied right away.
You mean matcha? And why?
Wanna try it out.
“So, tonight, we review the strategy against the Comets?” Callum asked.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll break the Islander’s wrists.” Killian smirked, shovel over his shoulder. “He always puts Lorea on them, so then he won’t be able to launch—”
“Nah.”
They both turned to stare at me.
“I just want to prove we can beat them without targeting their captain.”
Callum pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “Nope. No fever.”
I batted his hand away again.
That was the initial plan…but I didn’t want my mate to eat up her little nails worrying over her damn twin.
Killian snatched my phone while I was distracted. “You put in a passcode! Wait, you changed your screensa—ouch!”
I blew on my knuckles.
“They expect us to target the Islander,” I semi-lied. “I’ve got a different strategy.”
That, however, was fully true.
They waited.
“You’ll see,” I said, shrugging. “Works better if you don’t know.”
Oh, I have a plan. And I can’t fucking wait.
“Lolo!” I glanced up at Gran’s call.
She waved her empty glass at me, the little paper green umbrella matching today’s hair color. “Can you get us more grape juice?”
I grinned. “Ladies want juice, ladies get juice.”
They all giggled.
In the pantry, I scooped up the apple juice bottles and ignored the grape ones. Yvaine was allergic to grapes.
I’d been so mad at her at the wereball conference, when she hadn’t told the Islander, her annoying twin, about us. Like she was ashamed to be mated to me. Like she cared about what they thought of me.
That one had landed hard. I’d left angry. Resentful. And I’d been mean with her later on, when she’d tried to get information from Rudolph about me.
But I should have known. Shouldn’t have doubted her. Yvaine never spoke badly of anyone, let alone her mate.
I caught myself grinning.
She’d shut my insecurities down fast. Told Rudolph she’d been shocked I was her mate—fair, considering I tended to act first and think later. Sue me.
Then I’d had to hear all her insecurities about me. A full, itemized list. Fuckboy, playboy, all the boys.
“Where to, Mrs. Lycanwood?” Killian called, balancing a potted palm.
“Left. No, farther down. A little more,” Gran ordered.
He started to set it down, knees wobbling.
The grannies cackled. One wagged her cane. “Careful, boy! That plant has feelings!”
“No. More to the right!” Gran said, sipping her new apple juice.
Killian hoisted it again, squatting low, grunting. A bead of sweat slid down his temple.
The plant teetered.
Nothing like a horticultural workout to psych up Killy before the big game.
I told myself I was keeping my identity a secret from my bunny because I didn’t want to distract her before her exam. Totally noble. Completely selfless.
I’d spent more time helping her than studying for my own stuff, although I mostly just took screenshots of her while I quizzed her. Twenty-two, to be exact. Saved them all in a passcode-locked folder because, fuck, if anyone else saw those pictures of her…
They were mine.
I’d tell her. At the game.
I’d tell her I was the reindeer and the mate she needed a ladder to reach and kiss.
Stroking my chin, my lips twitched into a sly grin. And if she fainted? I’d catch her.
But should I kiss her first? Talk to her? Talk to her while I kiss her? Choices, choices…