“Is she pack?”
“In her own way.”
“She would have to know.”
“I trust you, Ox,” he said, and I closed my eyes. The weight of his words were not lost on me. Not with his family’s history.
“Would I lose myself?” I asked him. “The part of me that makes me me.”
“No. I wouldn’t let that happen. You would still be you. Just….”
“More?” I asked bitterly.
“Different,” he said. “Ox. Ox. You will never need to be more. Of anything. You are perfect just the way you are. Humans are… special. Human pack members are revered. You will always be protected. You will always be loved.”
A bee flew past my legs and I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared. “Then why ask?”
“Because you will always have a choice. We are defined by the choices we make. When you turn eighteen, should you want the bite, I will give it to you.”
I looked at him. He was watching me closely. “I could run with you,” I said shyly. “At the full moon.”
He laughed. “You’ll do that anyway. You might not be as fast, but we won’t let you fall behind.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His smile faded. “To protect you.”
“From what?”
He said, “There are things far greater out there than you or I, Ox. Both good and bad. The world is bigger than you could possibly imagine. We’re safe here. For now. But that might not always be the case. This is a place of power. And places such as this always attract attention.”
“What’s changed?”
“Joe.”
I looked away. “Would you have told me if he…?”
“Yes. One day.”
And I left it at that. “It’s probably dinnertime,” I said. “It’s tradition.”
And his smile returned.
I WONDERED if Thomas had noticed I never answered his questions. About becoming a wolf. I thought he did. I thought he knew everything.
“I KEEP you grounded,” I said to Gordo not long after. We were alone in the shop, getting ready to close up for the day. It was almost time to go back to school and these quiet moments we had would become few and far between.
He didn’t answer right away. I was okay with that.
I locked up the front doors and followed him out back, where he’d have his smoke and I’d pretend to have one too and we’d shoot the shit for another ten minutes like we always did before we went home.
He was sitting in his ragged lawn chair, twirling the lighter in his hands, cigarette behind his ear. He was watching a flock of birds flying by overhead.
“My father,” he said.
I waited.
He cleared his throat. “My father,” he tried again. “He was… not a very nice man.”