It was hidden away in the back of my closet. It was quartz. One of the ears was twice as big as the other. The wolf was howling, head tilted back, its tail curled around its legs. The last time I’d looked at it had been the night before I’d left to search for Gavin. I hadn’t given it much thought since then.
Gavin frowned, sinking low in his seat. “I don’t have one.”
“I know,” Mom said gently. “Which is why I want to give you the one Thomas Bennett gave to me.”
I felt gut-punched as she pulled it from the drawer. It was carved from black stone by a deft hand. It was so lifelike, I almost expected it to stretch, head toward the ground, tail rising up behind it. She set it on the desk on top of the envelope before sliding both of them toward Gavin.
He stared at it before looking up at her. “Why?”
She said, “Because he’d want you to have it. Remember, you always have a choice. And no matter what you choose, you will have a place in this pack. But I can’t think of anyone who this should go to more than you.”
“It’s yours,” he said, voice trembling. “From Thomas. To remember him.”
“I don’t need this to remember him,” she said. “I will never forget him. But this? This is for you. Because you deserve it, Gavin. Can’t you see that? You deserve this and so much more.”
She stood and walked around the desk. She stopped next to his chair, and he turned his face into her stomach. She put her hands in his hair, holding him close as he breathed her in. I couldn’t move, stunned into inaction.
Eventually he pulled away.
She came to me then. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. She whispered, “He loved you. More than you could ever know.”
She left, closing the door to the office behind her.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. My father’s words rang loudly in my head. I was lost to them, and I couldn’t focus. I wanted to pick up the envelope and read through it again and again, but I couldn’t get my arms to work.
It was Gavin who broke through the whirlwind. He said, “I’m pack.”
“Yeah.”
“Scary.”
I looked over at him. “Is it?”
“I think so.”
“Gavin, you don’t have to—”
“He’s right.”
“About what?”
“Everything he wrote. About you.”
“You think so?”
He shrugged. “I think so.”
“Oh.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
He said, “I like you.” That was it. So simple. So devastating. As if he hadn’t knocked me flat. As if he hadn’t changed everything I’d ever known. Three simple words, his heart steady and true, and I’d never felt so alive. It was at once an ending and a beginning.
So I said, “I like you too.” And I never meant it more than I did in this moment.
He smiled. It was coming easier these days. “You do?”