He was alone.
“They wanted to be here,” Mark said.
I nodded stiffly.
“But Thomas didn’t think it was safe.”
I laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t seem to have a problem with me being here.”
He said, “It’s not that. It’s—Elizabeth’s pregnant.”
I closed my eyes.
WE CROSSED into Oregon on a back road in the middle of nowhere.
There were no signs.
But I knew.
So did the wolves.
Carter’s and Kelly’s eyes were orange.
Joe’s were red.
They were singing. I tilted my head back and sang along with them.
MARTY DIED.
One moment he was there and laughing and yelling at me to get my ass in gear, and the next he was on his knees, his hands clutched to his chest.
I said, “No, please, no.”
He looked at me with wide eyes.
He was gone before I even heard the sirens of the ambulance.
That night I called my pack, needing to hear their voices. I got an answering machine.
I didn’t leave a message.
“OH MAN,” Carter said. “Do you think Mom will make her roast for us? Like, roast and carrots and mashed potatoes.”
“Yeah,” Kelly said. “And there will be so much gravy. I’m going to put gravy on everything.”
That sounded good to me too.
HE LEFT me the garage.
I blinked in disbelief at the lawyer standing in Marty’s old office. “Excuse me?”
“It’s yours,” he said. He wore a frumpy suit and seemed to be perpetually sweating. He reached up with a handkerchief and wiped his brow. The collar of his shirt was soaked. “The garage. The house. The bank accounts. All of it. He amended his will two years ago. I advised against it, but you know how he is. Was.” He wiped his forehead again. “No offense.”
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed.
GREEN CREEK was two hours away when Joe pulled over to the side of the road.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.