Page 110 of The Wolves of Forest Grove

I still hadn’t gotten a reply from Uncle Tim, but I assumed he was stewing about what to say. Probably gearing up from a novel-length response with lots of big words and listen here, Allie Graces.

The joke was on him, though. I didn’t plan to read them.

Layla whooped and Viv stepped up from behind her, ready and waiting with a hug, too. She’d been a wreck at school the last few days, but I was glad to see only a trace of the heavy clouds she’d been carrying around with her since the lacrosse game still lingered.

Her coach and the team all brushed off the incident with Bev as a horrible accident. They didn’t even plan to suspend Viv from the team, especially since she seemed too distraught over it herself, running away and all. They had no idea she had to run, and for a very different reason.

They took her decision to quit the team hard, but not as hard as she did.

It took two tubs of chocolate panda ice cream from Gerry’s on Thursday night before she’d even agree to go back to school at all.

“Love you,” she said as she squeezed me tightly. “You’re the good shit, Allie cat. Happy eighteen.”

“Love you too, Viv.”

“Oh, and your gift was a team effort, so you can’t be mad at anyone.”

My stomach clenched.

I had told them I didn’t want anything.

Suppressing a groan, I warily scanned the shop, looking for something wrapped to absolute perfection. Layla wouldn’t have let anyone but her wrap whatever it was.

What I found, though, wasn’t a boxy shape covered in sparkling ribbons and cleanly folded paper. It was easy to skim over in the shop, just sort of blending in.

Covered in a taupe colored tarp, the telltale shape of a car took up about half of the available space. Clay worked on old cars sometimes, as well as bikes. If it weren’t for the very Layla black ruffled bow on the hood, I’d have assumed that it belonged to a client.

“Don’t get too excited,” Jared said with a half laugh, nervously shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “She needs work.”

“She’s practically falling apart,” Clay agreed, though I could tell they were only trying to downplay whatever was beneath the tarp and bow to make me feel better.

Layla sauntered over to the side of the car and curled her fingernails into the tarp, readying to unveil what hid beneath.

“Ready?” she asked me with a wide grin, but didn’t wait for me to reply. I was too dumbstruck to speak.

My tongue felt swollen, like it didn’t quite fit within the confines of my mouth anymore.

Layla tore the tarp off, sending the bow flying across the shop to land with a crinkling thud against the other tarp Clay still kept covering the opposite wall. Covering the map pinned to the wall beneath.

A choked gasp nearly cut off my air supply, and I coughed as I took her in.

“We weren’t really sure what you would like,” Jared began, his tone tentative, as though he were speaking to a cornered animal instead of his mate. I wondered what my face must have looked like.

“Which is why we asked your friends,” Clay finished.

“And we told them exactly what you wanted,” Viv announced with a warm smile.

Layla patted the roof of the car and leaned against her side. “You’ve talked about fixing one up since you were, like, twelve,” she said. “If you start now, you can probably have her running by the time you get your full license.”

“I…I can’t…” I croaked, my eyes welling.

Jared wrapped a warm arm around my shoulders, steadying them. “You can,” he disagreed. “We all chipped in. Clay and I got her off a guy up in Seattle.”

“And we got you a few parts that Clay said you would need—they’re in the trunk,” Viv continued, gesturing to the black beauty.

“Th-that’s where you were?” I asked, my brows lowering as I considered Clay. I thought he’d been with Sam this whole time. Though I’m sure he was for most of it, it seemed like he was also on a road trip to go and pick up a freaking car.

Clay lifted his shoulder in a shrug, smirking.

“So,” he said, a brow arched. “What do you think?”

I turned back to the car, a sob expanding beneath my breastbone until it was almost painful. A 1970 Chevelle.

Dad had a calendar of old cars in the kitchen growing up.

I’d always remember when he flipped the month from October to November and there, gleaming on the top of the page was this exact car, albeit shinier, her chrome practically blinding.

I knew then that that was the car I wanted some day, and it just stuck.

When November rolled to December, I tore that image out of the calendar and taped it to my bedroom wall. It stayed there until Dad passed—the house needed to be sold to cover his hospital bills.

Even in the condition it was, with the start of rust on her fenders, a few dings in her right side, and a missing headlight, I knew she would have cost a small fortune. Certainly, more than I had in my savings account to repay them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Clay said, his voice taking on that foreboding tone I knew meant he would accept no argument. “And you are not paying us back for it. We’ll fix ’er up together, and then I intend to take her for a spin myself. I consider that payment enough.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” I said, my voice a distant whisper. “I didn’t want to accept it. Knew I shouldn’t. But fuck if I didn’t want that car more than just about anything else in the whole world right now.

“Say thank you,” Vivian said with a nonchalant shrug. “Obviously.”

“Thank you,” I managed as a tear finally escaped, and I swiped it away before anyone could see. “I freaking hate all of you though. I can’t believe you hid this from me. And you know I hate gifts.”

I took a long breath and managed to soothe the tremor in my shoulders just as Jared loosened his grip on me, letting me go. “We know,” he said. “But we just don’t care.”

I shoved him and laughed, taking a tentative step toward my new wifey.

“There’s one other little thing inside,” he said, moving toward the back of the shop where I could see a big white box and plates atop the counter. “Go check her out and then we’ll have cake.”

Shaking my head, I clenched my hands and tip toed nearer, almost afraid that if I took my eyes off of her that she would vanish before I could ever feel the curve of her steering wheel beneath my fingertips.

Layla opened the door for me, a shrill screech sounding as she did.

She winced. I laughed.

She wouldn’t understand that I was glad she needed work. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe I’ll just leave it open,” she muttered when I inched past her and lowered myself into the driver’s seat. “I don’t want to snap the door off or something.”

Her leather seats were torn on the edges and worn from overuse and sitting too long without proper care, but they formed to my body nonetheless, the smell of dusty carburetor and sun-heated leather filled my nose.

I gripped the steering wheel, wringing my hands over it before shifting one to brush a palm over the wide dash.

“Look up,” I heard Jared holler and glanced up to see him in the rearview, sticking candles into a chocolate cake. Then something else caught my eye. A photograph, the edges slightly curled.

In it, a woman with long white-blonde hair smiled at the camera, her belly swollen and gray eyes bright as she stared up at the man who held her. His thick arms wrapped tenderly around her from behind, his fingers splayed over her pregnant belly beneath a pretty yellow dress and jean jacket. Dad.

It was dad.

It was a picture of us. All of us.

Before this cruel world stole away the sister I should’ve had, then my mother, and finally, my father.

I didn’t know a picture like this even existed.

My throat burned as I tugged it free from the clip holding it in place on the sun visor and shakily brought it closer.

They looked so happy together. They had no idea that in a matter of weeks from when this was taken, Diana Grace would be gone forever, and my father wouldn’t ever smile quite as widely ever again.

My chest ached as I traced the line of dad’s scruffy jaw and found parts of me in mom. I’d only ever seen a handful of pictures of her. Dad had put most of them away after the first couple of years, keeping only the super worn one he always had in his wallet, tucked behind a credit card.

That photo was taken long before this one, when they were still young, before they were ever married or pregnant. She seemed different in this one. Vibrant with life. Beaming as though lit from within.

A tear fell onto the photograph, and I smeared it away, trying to get control of myself. I hugged the photo to my chest, pretending that it was them and not just their likeness captured in mercury infused paper.

I never knew what it was like to be held by my mother, but my Dad had given me all the love he’d had left to give before he passed. Enough for both of them.

Even though I was the one who took her away from him.

If my sister had lived instead of me, would she still be alive? Would they both still be here? Would they be singing happy birthday with smiles on their aged faces, welcoming their daughter to adulthood?

I dropped my head, blinking away blinding tears to stare at the photograph once more, willing myself to see it from another perspective.

It’s not my fault, I mouthed the words, tasting them to see if they could be swallowed.

It was what Dad always told me. It was what everyone told me.

Of course, it wasn’t your fault, Allie Grace, Dad would say, giving my boney eight-year-old shoulders a squeeze.

Your mom wanted you more than she wanted anything else in the whole world.

She’s probably up there right now, wishin’ you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself.

I know she wouldn’t want you sad. Not even for a second.

But if she didn’t have me, she’d still be here.

There’s no way anyone can know that, Allie. Now, come on, buck up. All you can do now is make her proud, ’kay kiddo?

I’d put my tough girl face on and nodded, ignoring how my eyes still watered and spilled over despite my tiny clenched fists and squished together brows.

Dad always knew what to say, with just the right mix of patience and understanding, but also enough tough love to set me straight.

I realize with a dawning certainty that there was something I needed to do before tonight.

Before Ryland celebrated his new mate under the watchful eye of the moon and we put Clay’s plan into motion.

There was someone I needed to talk to. Someone I should have gone to for advice a long time ago. He’d been there all along, waiting for me to come, but I couldn’t do it. It hurt too much.

But I could see now that was selfish. Cowardly.

And my dad hadn’t raised a fucking coward.

Nodding to myself, I sniffed hard and gently tucked the photo back into place on the visor above my head. I pressed two fingers to my lips and then to the worn photograph.

“Miss you,” I whispered before tearing my eyes away from the faces of my smiling parents and swiping my palms over my eyes.

I didn’t know how I was ever going to thank Jared, and I was afraid to ask where he even managed to find the photo, having a sneaking suspicion he must have broken into the storage unit and gone through about a million boxes to find it.

It took another minute before I was ready, but then I stepped back out of the car, breathing through a bubble of emotion in my throat.

They were all there waiting for me. My family. Standing shoulder to shoulder. Jared held a chocolate cake between his hands, eighteen candles burning down to the base in a wide circle along the outer edge.

“Happy birthday to you,” Clay began, and I laughed, shaking two more tears free of my eyes as the others began to sing with him. A tightness made me press my fisted hands to my chest, afraid something within might shatter if I didn’t hold it together.