“So, he’s angry and emotional and gets to treat me like shit. I’m angry and emotional so I get to suck it up? Dad, that’s so chauvinistic! Do you hear yourself?”
“We’re on your side, Bailey,” Mom insists.
Dad rubs his forehead like I’m giving him a headache.
“You two gonna work things out?” I fire back. “Are you gonna do that if you’re sleeping on the couch or hiding in the garage, Dad?”
Dad’s expression hardens. Mom’s face saddens.
Jase is staring at the photo in his hand, looking contemplative. We’re all standing here saying nothing for a long moment before Jase says, “Please don’t go to any trouble on dinner. I can call over to Roxy’s and get some food sent over for all of us.”
“Nonsense,” Mom argues with a wave of her hand, “I’ll go get that extra bedding, then I’ll go to the supermarket. My cheesy meatloaf and twice-baked potatoes sounds good to me, too.” She rubs my back before she leaves, like I just need a bit of soothing and I’ll be fine.
Unreal.
So, from what I gathered from conversations earlier today, I’m rejecting Jase and Jared is rejecting Cicely.
How weird.
Cicely is fighting. But Jared is likely just trying to keep her safe from his feral wolf.
And Jase is fighting. But only because of his alpha instincts? And maybe also because of his pride. Not because of true feelings for me, that’s for damn sure.
16
JASE
The five by seven photo is at least eight or ten years old. My arm is around her and we’re both smiling. She’s beaming. Flushed. It’s out behind the school in the park. I search my mind for the memory, and it takes a minute to recall when this was taken.
We had a carnival. I won her a stuffed animal, and she chose one the same color as my wolf. It’s here, on her dresser. It was beside the picture frame. Now it lies face first on the dresser. She must have dyed the tip of his tail to match mine.
Looking at her photo, at how she’s smiling sets of a strange pang in my chest. The expression on her face in the picture compared to now? I royally fucked this up.
“I told you I’m sorry,” I say softly. “And I mean it.”
The doorbell sounds.
“Whatever,” she mumbles, stomping out of the room.
Fuck.I smell witches.
I catch up to her, and the staircase is wide enough for me to squeeze by and get to the bottom first.
“Jason!” she snaps as I get to the door.
I dig the way she’s shouting my name. I feel it in my cock. But since I can’t do anything about it, my anger is about to be aimed at the reason my hands are tied.
I haul the door open and see Erica and Vivi on the porch. Their sister Veronica sits in the car at the curb.
“You,” I accuse and Vivi rears back at my body language. Erica doesn’t.
“We’d like to talk,” Erica says.
A car pulls up and parks behind Vivi’s.Fuckin’Danica.
I growl.
“Move!” Bailey demands, rushing past me, grabbing Erica’s hand. “My mom still smells like Soleil Young to Dad. Can you help?”