Page 5

Chapter 4

Toy Cars

Bishop

H er hand is cold when I take it and place it in my lap while I drive. I wish I could keep her warm all the time. I ache to care for her in even the smallest ways. Maybe it’s because there are so many threats outside of my control that something as small as keeping her hands warm seems the least I can do. 1

We pull into the pothole-riddled parking lot with faded white lines. Her brows pinch together as she looks at the wide double doors boarded up. “Is this a school?”

“Yeah.” I add with a small smile. “Or a hospital depending on who you ask.”

We climb out of the car, and I lead us to a hole in the wire fence that gives us access to the abandoned campus. The outdoor corridors feel so small compared to the last time I was here. I was seven years old and being sent to the principal’s office for something Ecker did. Our parents took us out of school that day, worried our tendency for troublemaking would lead to someone discovering our true identities. The school shut down the following year, and it’s sat like a graveyard of childhood memories since.

“She’s really going to be okay?” Sinclair asks me before we enter the science classroom. There’s a vulnerable hope to her tone that makes my chest tight, like she’s scared to let herself feel hopeful and she’s looking to me to let her down easy.

“Doc doesn’t sugarcoat,” I assure her. “If he says she’s going to be okay, she will be.”

“Okay.” Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile, then she lifts on her tiptoes to place a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you.” My chest warms in response.

“Ready?” I ask, my hand on the doorknob.

She nods and a crackle of excited anticipation flits through our bond. Then I open the door.

Now that Sinclair and our pack have been cleared in Eric’s death, we can head back to the Estate, though I’m still on high alert. I’m not surprised the Elders jumped to judgment and retribution, but to go from attempted murder, demanding an eye for an eye, to “just kidding, it was suicide” . . . I can’t help but feel we will be walking into a trap.

Trap or no, there’s one stop I want to make on the way.

Sinclair holds my hand as we pass by the boutiques, their storefront windows full of fashionable mannequins.

Seeing her grandma alive and out of surgery has made the light return to her eyes and she has a small smile constantly fixed on her face. It could also have something to do with the fact that Ecker kept her mother out of sight during our visit.

She swings our arms and asks, slightly flirty, “Are you taking me shopping, B?”

“Not today.” I quirk a smile as our final destination comes into view.

The past decade has seen the stores change names and the buildings painted different colors. There are new bike racks and flower boxes, and a smoothie café has replaced the gelato shop. But the fountain in the center of the square hasn’t changed one bit.

Frozen in time, not only in my memories, but in reality too.

I stop in front of the fountain but turn toward one of the surrounding apartments. I point to a window on the third floor. “That’s where Ecker’s family lived. We would shoot paper airplanes out of the window to see whose would go the farthest.”

“ What ?” She looks at me with a mix of surprise and emotion.

“Yeah.” I lift the corner of my mouth in a smile, then point to the next window on the floor. “Titus and his parents lived in that one. He broke his ankle at fourteen sneaking out the window.”

“To see a girl?” A hint of intrigue lights up her question.

“No”—I laugh—“to beat the crap out of some dude five years older . . .” She gives me a side eye like she knows there’s more to the story, so I admit with a chuckle, “ For a girl. ”

“So he’s always been like this?”

“Like what?”

“Willing to put his body on the line to protect others.”

“Yeah,” I answer proudly. “Always.”

She squeezes my hand and looks up at me. “You’re all like that.”

My throat goes tight as I recall all the times in these very apartments when I couldn’t protect anyone. I feel unworthy of the adoration in her eyes. “It’s just an alpha’s nature,” I say dismissively.

“No,” she refutes instantly and adamantly, turning to face me rather than standing at my side like she’s squaring up for a fight. “You guys are different. You all would lay down your lives for those you love. A lot of people might say they would, but if it came down to it, they wouldn’t. You would. ”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “In a heartbeat.”

Sinclair

He looks at me like he doesn’t deserve me, but it’s me who doesn’t deserve him. Any of them.

Bishop sacrificed himself, giving me, an enemy at worst and a stranger at best, his only mate bond. Ecker gave me a sword to slay my monster, showing me not only justice but a strength I didn’t know I possessed.

And Titus.

Titus suffered in silence, hiding behind a cruel facade. He tried so hard to come off heartless when he may have the biggest heart of them all.

This heavy feeling sets low in my stomach. I may not deserve them, but I have them. And I can’t take that for granted any longer. I need to be the omega they deserve.

I wrap my arms around Bishop’s lower back and ask, “So, which window was yours?”

His warm palm slides down my spine as he nods toward the building. “Fourth floor. It looks out over this fountain obviously.” He unwinds one of my arms to stand at my side so we both face the fountain.

“I always thought it strange that people would throw a penny to make a wish. Why something with so little value? They must not have wanted their wish that bad,” he muses out loud, voice soft as if talking to himself.

“When things would get really bad between my parents, my mom would beg me to go to Titus’s or Ecker’s.” He pauses, and I watch his throat bob on a heavy swallow. “I hated leaving her, but it felt like the only thing I could do. So I tried to make it worth it, to still do something to help.”

I wait silently and patiently for him to continue. His jaw ticks as he stares solemnly at the coin-filled fountain.

“A penny didn’t seem enough, even a quarter felt paltry, so I would grab the most valuable thing I had. My most prized possession. One of my toy cars. And I’d make a wish on that.”

My heart breaks for the little boy that came down here, desperate to protect his mother and wishing on a toy car. “Bishop . . .” I exhale, my throat clogging with the urge to cry.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, metal car. I recognize it as one of the Hot Wheels from the bungalow. He places it in my hand. Tears burn my eyes.

“It never did my mom much good, but maybe it will help your grandma.”

1. “Lucky” by Dermot Kennedy