NovelEnglish
Chapter 72
“Good riddance,” Marla says.
I glance at her sharply but she doesn’t notice. She’s busy sh ooting daggers at Aaron’s back with her
mascara-caked eyes.
I take a deep breath.
I’m not being nice.
I look around the hall at the other wolves that are hanging around. A couple of older males look vaguely
familiar and there are two younger guys who are conversing with
my brother.
No one approaches me. There are no welcomes.
Everyone is still grieving, I remind myself. But that doesn’t make this ‘homecoming’ feel any less like
‘home’.
It’s not like there would’ve been time to clean out my room or to assemble the pack, but everything
about today just feels anticlimactic, and, well, bad.
What’s worse, I don’t know what to do with myself or where to
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtstart.
My brother approaches and he’s smiling. He pulls me into a hug. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
I soak up this hug. I needed one.
I haven’t been around my family in a long time. And my memories of this place are so crystal clear-they
were the only thing that kept me going in those early years-that I think seeing all the differences and
feeling like an outsider has only compounded the negative thoughts.
“You’re tired,” he tells me. “You should rest.”
Is this how Aaron felt, being ‘dismissed’?
I try not to be offended, because his heart is in the right place. I’m a mess right now and it has been a
brutal night.
“Go on up. Sleep for a few hours. We can figure things out later tonight.”
I’m not really sure this is the best idea, but I also want to approach this carefully, as I’m sure I’m ruffling
a lot of feathers and most people, no matter how supportive, always struggle with ‘change’ at least at
the start.
“Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
Marla grins.
They stand arm-in-arm as I walk off.
I don’t go back to my room. I hit the kitchen first. There was a
wolf that used to bake apples for me and make some kind of homemade poptart. But the kitchen is
empty and the pans used for my bacon and eggs are still on the stove. Di rty bowls are left on the
counter. It isn’t a disaster, but there isn’t a spread of food laid out or the team of wolves that would be
up and making breakfast for the pack by this time of morning.
I check the giant refrigerator. There are a bu nch of takeout containers and leftovers that look too old.
Aside from the carton of eggs and a gallon of milk, there isn’t much else.
Moving out of the kitchen I take the back stairs up to the main landing. From here, I can go up two or
three flights. I can turn left or right. On a lark I take a right, toward my father’s wing of the house.
The hallway looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a long while. There are pawprints on the floor, and the
kind of stains that come from dirt being ground in by foot traffic over a long time. Again, I remind myself
not to judge. Life is messy, people are what matter, not how meticulous a house is.
Though part of me is inwardly grimacing. Between the main hall/den, my room, I’m a little anxious that
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmdad’s room won’t be much better. I would think with all the money I’ve been sending that they could’ve
hired a housekeeper?
No. I shouldn’t get hung up on money or details or a mess. These are minor details. And I can
straighten it up. The thought takes shape and I find myself wanting to do just that. I want to clean and
set things to right.
But most of all… I want to see if Dad left some note or letter. Some explanation or message just for me.
He had to have known what a shock it would send through the supernatural community and his pack in
particular. I can’t imagine that my dad would put me in this position without leaving me some
instructions or message.
And there had to be some message relayed to the pack, right? How else could Brian or anyone else
have known my father had chosen me?
I expect dad’s room to be locked and I’m prepared to pick the lock or demand that someone open it.
But when I try the handle, the door swings open.
What the he ll!?!
I thought I’d had all the shocks I could bear for one day-clearly,
I was very very wrong.
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