Page 40 of It’s You

J ack took the long way home, walking the twelve miles from Darcy’s house slowly, arriving back at the lodge close to dawn. There was no sense in trying to go back to sleep. Better just to pack a bag and head north. Away from Darcy. For what felt like the hundredth time in his life.

He tried to look on the bright side. She hadn’t hung up the phone at the sound of his voice, and she didn’t call him a monster again.

Part of him wondered if he should have pressed his advantage and knocked on her door, but building up trust with her again might take some time, and Jack didn’t want to blow it by pushing her too hard too soon.

He thought back to that night on the Carlisle High School stage.

That fateful night before his eighteenth birthday, when he kissed a human, thinking it would be harmless, and somehow became bound to her.

If he’d known what fate his actions would set into motion, would he have stayed away?

In a million years, he wouldn’t have wished this fate on her.

But there was no way he could have known.

The reality is that it had never happened before, and as far as Jack knew, it hadn’t happened since.

Their binding, legitimate and strong though it was, was also an aberration.

He couldn’t have anticipated it, but he had been horrified when he looked into her sweet face and realized that eventually their road would lead to yesterday morning.

Eventually, she would have found out who, and what, he really was.

He flattened his hands on his kitchen counter, bowing his head.

You didn’t make it happen. It just happened. You can’t do anything but trust it.

The binding will hold. The binding will hold.

He set the coffee to brew, took a long, hot shower, got dressed, and threw a few things together in a backpack. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee, washed out the pot, turned off all the lights, and locked the front door.

His phone buzzed as he pulled out of the driveway. He looked down, hating the fact that his throat tightened and his body tingled, hoping it was from Darcy.

It wasn’t. It was from Lela.

Two words:

Dad’s missing.

It felt a little dramatic to send a text advising Jack that his father was missing when his father had regularly gone missing throughout his life.

Dad’s missing. Also known as Friday. Or Tuesday. Or July.

Always the drama queen, Lela.

His phone buzzed again, and Jack picked up his phone to read the second part of the message:

Tallis can’t even find him.

Now Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. No matter how much distance separated a Roug from her mate, or how much bad blood, she should be able to pull him inside.

Lela’s message meant that his father wasn’t just physically missing.

It meant one of two things: that his father was unconscious or that his father was dead.

He had a four-hour drive ahead. Jack stepped on the gas.

After an hour, Jack found himself across the border in Canada as he drove up Route 108 north through the Parc National de Frontenac.

He passed through the small town of Lambton and sped through Beauceville, where he generally stopped for gas and food.

He kept his foot on the gas. He needed to make good time.

Jack was so focused on driving, he jumped when his phone rang.

He picked up the phone to look at the caller ID and was surprised to see the name Willow Broussard, MD pop up on the small screen.

The phone rang again, and Jack looked out the window, a sour expression reflected back at him.

He could tell Willow was very protective of Darcy, which meant that this was going to be a spectacularly unpleasant phone call.

The phone rang again. He’d lost his girl, and his father was missing.

Now this? Jack took a deep breath and pressed answer.

“ Bonjour ?” Maybe he could throw her off.

“ Jacques? Préfères-tu parler en francais? Très bien. C’est Willow .”

Shit. He’d forgotten she was fluent. And if her tone was any indication, she was pissed. And the answer to her question was no. He didn’t really want to speak to her in French or at all.

“Willow,” he said, low and even. “What can I do for you?”

“You can leave my friend the fuck alone.”

Here we go. “Can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. You can walk away from her and leave her alone. You’re off to a good start. So I just wanted to say thanks for leaving, and don’t come back.”

“I’m bound to her, Willow.”

“Yeah. I heard.”

He heard the sarcasm in her voice. He hadn’t expected that. Not that he’d necessarily expected her to embrace his nature and lifestyle, but he did think there was a good chance she’d believe it was true.

“It’s true.”

“Are you fucking crazy? It’s a legend .”

“Legends come from somewhere. Did Darcy tell you what she saw yesterday morning?”

“She said she saw you walking out of your garage in the form of a monster, passed out on your driveway, and when she came to, you looked like yourself again. She said you admitted to being a…a…I can’t even say it, and it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s bullshit.

She can’t stop crying. She can’t work. She’s confused.

She’s taking an ancient legend and mixing it up in her head with old feelings for you. And you’re encouraging it.”

“You think she’s crazy?”

“You know what, Jack? Yes, she appears delusional and emotionally unstable to me. That’s my medical opinion. My personal opinion is that you need to stop fucking with her head and leave her alone!”

Jack swallowed, his heart twisting at Willow’s description of Darcy. “She’s not crazy.”

“Really, Jack? Really? You’re some sort of mythical, skinwalking creature of the night? Do you think I’m a total moron? I don’t know what your game is, but?—”

“I think you know that there are unexplainable things in the world.”

She didn’t dispute this. “Please, just stay away from her. She said you’re going north. Please don’t come back.” Her voice had softened as she pleaded with him, and it gave him the opening he needed.

“Willow…” He started, then stopped, wondering if he was making the right decision. He had no other choice. He needed her to believe him, which meant he needed to have this conversation. “What do you know about Phillip?”

“The douchebag who assaulted her then dumped her by postcard while she was at Harvard?”

“That’s the one.”

“How do you know about Phillip?”

He ignored her question. “Tap into the medical records for the Lakes Region Medical Center. September 8, 2002. Late night or early morning on the ninth. Check for someone admitted who’d had a very specific accident.

Someone who seemed frightened but wouldn’t share any details about his accident.

He may have used an assumed name. Read the records. Then we’ll talk.”

“You know, Jack? You show up here, and you make these wild, crazy assertions about yourself, and you mess with my friend’s?—”

“Listen to me.” He growled, then took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I know you love her. I do too. I would never hurt her. I would do anything for her. Anything. Check the records, Willow. Let me know what you find.”

He heard her sigh. “She was really, really happy with you, Jack. Last weekend? I’d never seen her so happy. She asked me, ‘Would it be crazy if I loved him?’ I’ve never seen her like that. Not with anyone else.”

Jack’s throat felt thick, and his eyes burned. It wasn’t lost on him that while he had declared his love for Darcy many times, she had yet to return the sentiment, and while the wait wasn’t exactly painful, hearing her say the words was something he wanted, something he was longing for.

He cleared his throat. “What did you tell her?”

“What?”

“What did you tell her? When she asked if it would be crazy?”

“I told her it wouldn’t be crazy. I said you’d waited a lifetime for each other. I told her that love had been known to grow in rockier places.”

Jack’s eyes shuddered closed with relief and gratitude, and he knew deep in his gut that if Willow Broussard ever needed anything from him, he’d be the first to offer her his help.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Check the records.”

“Fine.” She sighed. “I’ll do that, Jack.”

He heard the phone click as it hung up, and he rolled down his window, appreciating the fecund humidity that rose out of the rain-soaked forest. It smelled like rotten wood and moss and earth and Darcy and everything that was familiar and good.

It smelled of rocky places where good things could still grow.

Jack had to fill up his tank in Quebec. He also called his mother to let her know he was about ninety minutes away.

“ Jacques ?”

“ C’est moi, Maman .”

“Je ne le trouve pas.” I can’t find him.

“Je vais t’aider à le chercher.” I will help you search for him.

She continued in French. “I try to feel him, but I can’t. I don’t feel him anymore, Jacques. It’s just cold and black when I go inside.”

“Hasn’t this ever happened before?”

“No.” He heard her sob. “Never. Not in forty years.”

“We’ll find him…either way.”

“I don’t hate him. I could never?—”

“I know, Mom. I’ll be there soon.”

“Wait! Before you go. Did you see her, Jacques?”

He took a deep breath and sighed, feeling very tired and very sad.

“Yeah. It didn’t, uh…It didn’t go so well. I, uh…I’ll be there soon.”