Page 11 of The Pack Next Door (The Wolfverse #4)

Briar

I knew this feeling well. Walking back home, head hanging down, remembering everything that went down the night before, because once anger had left me, there was only shame left.

Well, that and the memory of waking up beside the pack next door.

I was not going to think about the Whitlock pack.

The temptation was great, because that saved me from remembering the way I spoke to my mother.

A conversation needed to be had about her living situation, but not like that.

On the drive back to Moon River, I’d thought about it over and over.

Broach the issue with tact. See what she wanted to do and discover whether that was possible.

Brainstorm options together. Instead, I…

As I reached the back door of Mum’s house, my eyes closed for just a second. I was an arsehole last night.

I was also very, very naked.

I slid inside, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to wrap around me, only to be lured into the kitchen by a delicious smell.

“Morning!” I blinked as Mum hobbled over, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“Did you sleep alright?” She seemed to see the state of me for the first time, smiling at the sight of pine needles and leaves in my hair.

“Out in the forest again? You used to sneak out there all the time when you were a teenager.”

“Mum.”

“I made your favourite.” She pulled down two plates and then used the spatula to place several pancakes on each one. “I’ve got lemon and sugar, maple syrup?—”

“Mum.” I took her hand in my spare one and gave it a squeeze. “I wanted to say sorry for last night.”

It was then she finally looked into my eyes.

I hated the fine network of wrinkles around them, the liver spots now dotting her cheeks.

I hated the fine tremor in her hand, right before she let go.

She was my mother, I was her daughter, and sometimes it felt like we were perpetually caught up in an unequal dynamic.

Right now I’d happily go back to her telling me what to do, because I didn’t know what to do when she couldn’t any longer.

“Don’t be.” She waved a hand and then went and turned the heat off on the cooktop.

“I mean, you weren’t wrong.” My eyes followed hers as she stared fixedly at a spot on the hall carpet.

“It was the scariest moment of my life. Tripped over a wrinkle in the carpet and suddenly…” Her fingers flexed, hovering in the air.

“I couldn’t get up. We always joked about old ducks breaking their hips when we were young, but…

” Mum looked back at me. “You have no idea how weak you feel when it happens to you.”

She sat down at the breakfast bar and I followed the tracery of maple syrup as she poured it on her pancakes.

“I’m sorry too, darling. When you were growing inside me, I swore I’d never become the kind of mother that meddled.”

“Mum—” I sat down beside her, but she shook her head.

“I pushed you.” Her lips pursed even as I saw real regret in her gaze. “I pushed you when you were in high school and that’s why you left, never coming home.”

“It’s not that…” She watched me closely, so I was forced to shrug. “Well, not entirely.”

With a sigh, she gripped the counter.

“In my mind, you’d have what I never did.” Her smile was bittersweet. “Men that waited a whole life to be with you.” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t leave you for some woman half you age in Queensland.”

“Mum—”

“I’ll butt out now.” My snort was entirely involuntary, which made her smile.

“I will. Whatever’s going on…” She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the Sanderson…

the Whitlock house, before she picked up her knife and fork.

“With anyone, it’s none of my business unless you want to talk about it.

” That sidelong look, it was contrite. “I’m sorry, Briar.

I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. ”

“That makes two of us.” All the tension in my body leached out as I settled down in the stool beside her. “So, would you consider having a nurse move in here or?—?”

She shut me down with a small smile.

“Darling, we’re both adults now, and I think we need to change the way we do things to reflect that. I promise not to say a thing about any alpha, in town or otherwise…”

If I stayed out of her business.

I smiled ruefully, then squeezed lemon juice on my pancakes along with a healthy tablespoon of sugar.

“Butting out and acting like an adult,” I said, holding out a fist. She bumped her knuckles with mine with a grin. “Got it.”

“Good, now have your breakfast, because I’ve got something I wanted to show you.”

One eyebrow jerked up as I looked at her quizzically, because she’d picked the very moment I had a mouthful of pancakes to lay that one on me.

No doubt that was deliberate. We ate up our breakfast because no amount of questions from me would get her to reveal what it was.

I impatiently collected up our plates when they were done, then put them in the dishwasher, before Mum beckoned me into the lounge room.

On her bookshelf was a record of our life.

Her photo albums, created with care when I was a baby, then a child.

Some of her mother’s albums, even her grandmother’s.

I was never able to handle the old ones, reduced to peering over her shoulder as she flicked through the cracking pages.

But this time it was a scrapbook she pulled off the shelves.

The hardcover was printed with a pretty swirling design, but that didn’t prepare me for what I found inside.

The first page was an interview I’d done with the local newspaper. A staff writer discovered my stuff at my very first market stall. There were a few questions and a black and white photo of a much younger me, which had me staring up at Mum.

“Take a look,” she said.

Screenshots of my website. I forgot how amateurish the design was at first. I’d had a crack at doing it myself, only to never do that again.

Ads in the paper, a feature in an interior design magazine.

I flipped through page after page of photos of me, of my business, until finally I saw the award I received last year. That had me looking up at her.

“I know your business is important to you.” She squeezed my hand. “I guess I thought it was just something you’d do until you found your alphas, but that’s not it, is it? Millions of dollars in turnover?”

“Our growth has my accountant scratching his head,” I admitted with a rueful smile. “He doesn’t really get it.”

“But you do.” She took the scrapbook from me, tracing the shape of the award with her finger. “This is your passion, what makes you happy.” Her eyes met mine. “That’s important.”

“Yeah.” That came out as a croak, which had both of us laughing. “You know you’re always welcome to come up to the city and check it all out. I could fly you up so you’re not stuck on the bus. Then you could come and see my apartment. There’s one that’s coming up for sale…”

We both grinned. Like mother, like daughter, I was imagining a whole future for her that slotted neatly into my life.

“Or not.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Whatever you’d like to do.”

“What I need to do is make a nice cake for those boys next door,” she said, clasping my hand, then slotting the scrapbook back into the bookshelf.

“And why would we do that?” I asked warily.

“The one that mowed the lawn.” She turned to face me. “Maddox, was it? He invited us to dinner, and we can’t go over there empty-handed.”

“Muuum…”

My protest was waved away.

“I need to get to know my new neighbours,” she said, limping over to the kitchen before looking through her drawers. A mixing bowl and an electric mixer were produced. “You said I need someone to keep an eye on me.” She looked up with a smile. “Who better than three alphas?”

There was no arguing with that logic, and she knew it. I shook my head, grabbing the flour and sugar from the pantry. As she measured them out, I pulled out the sifter.

“We need to double sift—” she started to say.

“The flour, to aerate it and keep the cake nice, light, and fluffy, not like those horrible flat things your cousin Mary always used to make.”

We both smiled then.

“I’ve told that story a few times, have I?”

She piled the flour into the sifter and then started working the handle. As a cloud of flour fell into the bowl, I remembered all the times she’d had me help her cooking, explaining every step.

“I think about Cousin Mary every time I make a cake now,” I replied. “Now, you sort the dry ingredients and I’ll cream the butter and sugar.” Her mouth opened. “Until it’s a pale yellow.”

It was a funny thing, falling into the same rhythms of so long ago.

For a moment it was easy to believe I was just a child again, right up until I saw Mum wince from standing on her feet too long.

She’d never pass the making of the cake over to me, so I propped a stool under her and then helped where I could.

The batter was poured into the pan, then pushed into the pre-heated oven, but when she went to clean up, I waved her away.

Me swiping my finger through what was left of the batter had her frowning and me remembering.

“Those alphas,” I said with a sigh, taking the dirty utensils over to the sink. “They’ll break down the door to help you if you keep feeding them chocolate cake like this.”

“Well, you better get the icing bag out. You were always better than me at piping.”

I smiled and got the hot water running, filling the sink with detergent to clean the mixing bowl before making some icing.

Hours later, the cake was cooled, iced, and I had piped a couple of rows of decorative frosting onto the sides, which left me to get ready.

I had a shower, walking into my bedroom, only to stare out the window.

Dim lights glowed in some of the rooms in the Whitlock place.

I’d set out a nice pair of shorts and a t-shirt on my bed.

Comfortable, practical, and most of all, cool, it seemed like the perfect choice.

So why did I hesitate when I stood in front of the mirror?

The wolf whined. Usually she couldn’t wait for me to strip off all my clothes, but as I walked over to my suitcase, my fingers found the straps of a light sundress.

When we walked over to the house next door, the fabric would swirl around my legs. I’d feel the warm air play across my skin.

The same way it did when I woke up in the forest with company this morning. That damn chicken clucked, trying to argue that he really shouldn’t be eaten.

While Jace stared at me, looking like he wanted me for breakfast.

I felt like an idiot when I discarded the t-shirt and replaced it with the dress. Why the hell did I care what a couple alphas thought about what I was wearing? But I did, that much was clear as my hand smoothed down my front.

Staring into the mirror, it wasn’t me I saw, but them.

Jace’s cheeky grin, much to the chicken’s disgust. Mads leaping over the fence to rescue me from mower malfunctions, and then there was Gideon.

Right when I was freaking the fuck out, he got me away from the crowd, from everything.

Their omega would be a very happy guy or girl when the Whitlocks found them.

When I walked downstairs, Mum smiled up at me. She’d stuck with a sensible pair of Capri pants but had a pretty sequinned top on over that.

“You look beautiful, darling.”

“You too, Mum.” I placed a kiss on her cheek, then took the cake from her. “We need to develop some kind of sign. If you want me to leave you alone with the hot alphas, you could just tug your ear or something.”

“So you do think they are hot…” Mum purred.

“Mother.”

“I’m not saying anything.” She made a show of zipping her lips. “Just noticing.”

Me too.

On the walk over to the Whitlock house, it felt like I observed every step, the way the cake swayed gently in my hands, even the flocks of birds flying overhead.

I even noticed the muffled shout inside the alphas’ house.

When Mum pressed the buzzer, we were answered by some heavy steps and then the front door being wrenched open.

Mads took in Mum, me, and then the cake and winced.

He had something that might’ve been gravy smeared across his cheek, his hair looking slightly singed on the ends.

“Soo…” he said. “How do we feel about ordering pizza?”