Chapter 1

1

RHODES

S he was making snow angels in the dark.

It was hard not to smile. Even harder not to feel the knot around my heart twisting tighter with each beat while I watched her from the window in my bedroom. The window that looked directly into her own bedroom window next door. The windows we tried to bridge with cans and string when we were kids.

But now she was flopped on her back in the area between our yards, the moonlight bright against the fresh winter snow that had fallen earlier in the day. It gleamed off the dark ends of her hair that were visible under that ridiculously puffy white knit hat with the giant pink pompom on top.

Because of course Larkin Dawes would be making snow angels at almost midnight when the temperature had dropped into the single digits. The pure, innocent beauty of this girl never ceased to amaze me.

She looked ethereal from the light from the full moon combined with the soft glow of the Christmas lights her dad had strung all over the house and trees in their yard. She didn’t need to make snow angels; she was the angel.

She carefully tried to pick herself up, moving slowly so as not to slap handprints in the angel’s skirt. But, just like the last one, she still had to press a few fingers into the snow to keep her balance when standing up.

Getting to her feet, she stared at the offending marks like someone other than her own hand had put them there. Bending down, she tried to brush the smudges away, but it was pointless.

The smooth line from where she pinwheeled her legs was broken.

With a visible sigh, Larkin straightened up, her gaze lifting towards my window and lingering.

Even though I knew there weren’t any lights on, so she couldn’t possibly see me, I still stepped back deeper into the shadows, which was basically the sum of our entire relationship.

Larkin played in the light. I watched from the shadows.

I was fucking tired of watching.

After another second of staring at my window, Larkin’s shoulders drooped, and she headed for her back door. I waited until she was inside before turning away.

Pulling off my shirt, I balled it up and tossed it into the far corner of the room. It landed on top of the mountain of dirty clothes that had been accumulating since I came home for winter break. At some point I was going to have to do laundry or join a nudist pack.

Usually I didn’t let the hamper get more than half full before washing. My room was the only place I hung out in the house, and I kept it military clean and organized. Katy had taken a psych course one year as an elective and told me I was compensating for the chaos in my life by controlling this space I inhabited.

She was probably right. I used to clean up after dad, but that seemed to make him sadder, which led to more drinking, and more to clean up. I broke that cycle when I was in middle school, finally focusing on my room and letting the rest of the house be buried in his shit.

Dad definitely hadn’t touched the laundry while I was away at school. The last load I had thrown in of his clothes, was still sitting in the washer when I came home, the moldy smell was all the excuse I needed to bag them all up and throw them away for good.

The only appliance Dad ever cracked open in the house was the one that kept his beer cold. It had been stupid of me to think he might do a load of laundry.

Sighing, I opened my door and walked down the stairs quietly until I reached the living room, following the flickering light from the tv to where Dad’s favorite spot was.

He was passed out in front of the tv, some serial cop procedural on adding background noise that did nothing to muffle the snores. I moved to turn off the tv, my foot kicking an empty beer can. It rolled across the dirty carpet into a pile of other cans that toppled down. It was a shitty game of bowling, but it looked like I scored a strike.

Gritting my teeth, I surveyed the layers of beer cans and bottles. This was too much to ignore; I couldn’t even cross the floor without tripping over something.

I didn’t even bother glaring at his unconscious form in the armchair as I started gathering the cans. I tucked as many as I could into my arms and headed for the recycling in the backyard, kicking the backdoor open with my foot.

My boots crunched against the ice and snow as I focused on not slipping on patches that had thawed and refrozen when the sun went down. A cold gust of air kicked up as I opened the recycling can and dropped the cans into it with a loud clatter. One hit the rim and bounced out onto the snowy sidewalk.

“Rhodes?”

Shit .

“Why don’t you have a shirt on?” Larkin’s voice was amused and soft, a hint of a laugh punctuating her question. “It’s, like, eight degrees out here.”

I bent and quickly snatched up the can before spinning to face her with a grimace. I held up the can. “Late night janitorial duty.”

Her face fell, her dark eyes glancing over at the back door to my house. “How’s your dad doing?”

I flashed her a rueful smile even as a sharp pang slapped against the side of my ribs. I resisted the urge to crush the aluminum in my hand. “Currently passed out. But he’s single-handedly keeping the liquor store open at this point. I guess that’s something, right?”

She flinched, folding her arms across her chest, the sleeves of her puffy white coat making her look even smaller. “Rhodes—”

“Besides,” I cut her off, not needing or wanting to hear the pity, “at least I’m getting my internship hours in.”

She tilted her head to one side in confusion. “Internship?”

I winked, tossing the can into the garbage with the others. “For my future as a janitor.”

With a huff, Larkin rolled her eyes. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re not going to be a janitor—not that there’s anything wrong with being a janitor. It’s a thankless, underpaid job that deserves more recognition.”

I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. Typical Larkin, looking out for everyone else. Kindness was embedded in her DNA.

“I’ll be sure to mention that at the union meetings,” I told her, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

Her gaze widened, her eyes tracking across my naked chest and exposed torso. It was a dick move, but I couldn’t help flexing a pec when her gaze lingered. The blush on her cheeks was almost worth it.

The masochist in me let my brain wander to what would happen if I reached out and grabbed her, smashing her soft curves against me. I wondered if she still used the root beer flavored chapstick from when we were kids.

If I kissed her, would I taste it on my tongue? Or would I just taste Larkin?

Pure, unfiltered Larkin.

Want and need throttled to life, humming in my veins. The wolf in my chest paced, restless as always whenever Larkin was near and I let my thoughts wander. Especially when I let my thoughts wander.

Only problem was, that could never happen.

My wolf and I both needed to accept that.

Clearing my throat, I moved to fold my arms across my chest. God, it was really freaking cold.

“You could go to college with the rest of us,” Larkin said suddenly, hope in her voice.

That hope was always my undoing. Something in her gaze shifted, a softness that melted her big brown eyes when she was about to tell me she believed in me, and that I could do anything.

Those talks gutted me. I wished like hell I could be that guy for her. If I was being honest, sometimes I wanted that for myself, too, but it wasn’t in the cards. The husk of a man dead to the world inside the house was proof.

“Not really a college guy, Lark,” I reminded her gruffly.

Her mouth flattened. She sucked in a deep breath, and I could see the wheels turning in that pretty head of hers. I knew Larkin well enough to know she was about to launch a verbal assault to tell me all the ways I could have a future that didn’t involve a mop or an arsenal of cleaning supplies.

One of the only good things to come out of the shitshow of last semester was Larkin starting to stand up for herself. The quiet omega was finally showing that steel backbone I knew was buried deep.

I ground my molars together thinking about the root of that change.

In my nightmares, I still saw her face minutes after she had been attacked—assaulted—at school. The way her body shook, the fear in her eyes. It was enough to make me want to break something, or someone’s , face.

Sadly, Trace had escaped and justice slipped through our fingers yet again. Larkin should have had closure, and I should have had Trace’s head as a new soccer ball.

My chest burned with hate; my rage mingling with my wolf’s in a volatile cocktail that left my hands trembling.

I forced myself to be still, shoving down the feelings that always started to churn when I remembered. Emotions were dangerous, especially around this girl.

Her petite nose scrunched. “But you could—”

“Unless you count all the sorority sisters who love drunken one-night stands. That I could be into.” I smirked, cutting her off before she could start laying out all the ways I could apply myself.

She flinched, and I felt that in my soul. Yeah, I was officially an asshole.

But the sooner Larkin moved past this crush she had on me, the sooner things would go back to normal and she could move on. Maybe find someone a little—okay, a lot —less fucked up.

“You always do that,” she murmured, shaking her head sadly. “You always play it off like a joke. You’re smart, Rhodes. I could even help you study—”

“I have other things to do besides study,” I interrupted firmly. Unease crawled under my skin.

Her eyes narrowed, challenging and annoyed. “Like screw every female at GPA before you graduate?”

Okay, that stung. More than it probably should have.

I’d heard it all before. Gotten the congratulatory high-fives and smiles from guys when the rumor mill circulated my newest hookup. But seeing the open disgust in Larkin’s face was like trying to stop a train with my chest. It hurt like a bitch.

Larkin had moved in next door when her family relocated to our pack. I still remember sitting on the front steps of my house, watching the car pull up and out tumbled a tiny, brown haired girl with a yellow dress and squishy pink teddy bear tucked under her arm.

She looked at the house, and then looked at mine. I could see her eyes light up, and then she was flying across the grass that separated our houses, nearly tripping in her excitement.

Larkin had barely had time to say hi before her Mom was calling her back to help them unpack. And Larkin, being Larkin, promptly handed me her pink teddy bear for safe keeping while she went to help her parents.

I sat on the steps, terrified my dirty fingernails would mess up the soft fur of the teddy bear, until she came back ten minutes later and said we could play at my house.

My house wasn’t an option, but there was a pretty cool tree that Remy and I liked to climb out back. When I realized she probably couldn’t climb in a dress, I told her we could do something else. Katy, Ainsley, and Sierra definitely didn’t climb trees in dresses.

Larkin tucked the bear under her arm and scaled several feet before I could blink. She stared down at me, her gaze expectant, waiting for me to catch up.

Kind of like the look she was giving me now.

“That’s what you think of me?” I asked softly, hating the note of vulnerability I heard in my tone. Why was it so hard with this girl? Why was Larkin always the one who could cut through the bullshit?

Probably because she was the only one who I gave a damn about. Her opinion carried more weight than even Remy’s did in my world. No matter what I did, it always came back to the girl next door.

Her expression fell, her shoulders slumped. “No, Rhodes. I don’t think that,” she replied, frustrated.

I managed to get myself under control and forced a smirk, hoping like hell she didn’t see how fake it was. “Good. Because I can’t screw the freshmen. They’re practically kids, you know?”

Instead of my words making her blush or walk away, which was what I had been aiming for, she simply grew quiet, her big brown eyes sad. Blinking fast, she turned her head, and I saw a tear fall.

Fuck me . I was definitely an asshole.

“Lark—”

She held up her hand and took a step back. “Everything’s always a joke to you, isn’t it? When are you going to wake up and see no one is laughing, and no one is buying it?”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, but that ache in my chest was turning into a full-fledged stabbing pain that wouldn’t be ignored.

That same pain I felt a few nights earlier when I saw Larkin kissing Kyle and then Konnor under the fucking mistletoe in the middle of town right before Christmas.

I let out a slow breath, needing like hell to fix this twisted up mess that had become our relationship. I hated this awkward tension smothering our friendship that seemed to always be there now. Maybe she couldn’t be mine in the way I really wanted, but I missed her. I missed us.

Larkin had been one of my best friends for years. The distance between us sucked.

“Larkin,” I started weakly, not sure where to start.

Lips pressed into a thin line, she stepped back. “Good night, Rhodes.”

Pivoting on her heel, her boots crunched against the snow as she headed back inside. She closed her door gently behind her. I watched until the light went off downstairs and the light in her room turned on.

When we were little, we always kept our windows open so we could talk to each other. In the rain and winter, we used flashlights to get each other’s attention. Larkin had even taken it upon herself to learn Morse code one summer and then teach it to me so we could talk, the flashing lights a beacon when my dad would drink and I felt alone as a kid.

Tonight, she pulled the curtains closed, blocking me out.

“Fuck,” I swore as I kicked the trash can, hating myself in that moment even more than I usually did.

T he hand on my shoulder made me wake up; my body jack-knifed into a sitting position. I lashed out on instinct, my fist curled and ready to do damage. Another hand, stronger than mine, caught my wrist.

“Whoa, chill out, sleeping beauty,” Remy said with an amused snort. He let me go when I gave him a short nod. Stepping back, he folded his arms over his chest and looked down at me.

“Asshole,” I muttered, shaking my head. My hair flopped in front of my eyes and I shoved it back, glaring up at my best friend.

Remy and I had known each other almost our entire lives. We’d been best friends since before we even knew what those words meant. Which also meant I knew him almost better than I knew myself.

And right now, something was definitely happening.

“What’s up?” I demanded, raking a hand through my hair and blinking away the last traces of sleep. I was glad the covers had pooled on my lap since the dream I had been having about Larkin had been suddenly interrupted. My body hadn’t quite gotten the memo that it was just a dream.

“I need you to come downstairs,” Remy said, his tone low and calm. His alpha voice.

My eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

“We’ll explain everything,” he replied in that infuriating, unhurried way he was speaking.

“We?” That caught my attention. “Is Skye with you? She okay?”

Skye Markham, Remy’s mate, was another one of my closest friends, which was kind of weird considering I’d only known her for a few months. She was Larkin and Katy’s best friend and Remy’s... everything. We had been friends before I dropped the ball and let her get kidnapped right in front of me.

I might have gotten a little obsessed with making sure she was okay once she woke up from her three week coma-nap. A coma she wouldn’t have been in had I done my damn job as Remy’s beta and protected her.

A soft smile, sickeningly in love, lifted his expression. “Skye’s good. She’s not here.”

That was a relief.

Remy sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Get dressed and come downstairs.”

“Rem—”

“Trust me,” he said. Something in his tone made me pause.

Finally I gave him a reluctant nod, waiting for him to leave the room before I shoved the sheets off my body and headed for the small attached bathroom.

I closed the door and slapped the light switch on, glaring at the reflection in the mirror. My hair was, unsurprisingly, a mess. I was exhausted. It had taken hours for me to fall asleep, my mind insisting on replaying the scene outside with Larkin on a loop, dissecting and analyzing everything she said. Every smile, every twitch of a facial muscle. I thought of all the things I could have said, wanted to have said, but didn’t.

At one point, I almost caved and went downstairs to grab one of the beers I knew was in the fridge. I needed something to take the edge off. But the idea of sneaking past the man out cold surrounded by empty cans made my stomach sour.

No way would I use alcohol as a way out.

I wasn’t my father.

By the time I finished in the bathroom, the last memories of my Larkin fantasy had faded, and I was somewhat ready to face whatever was happening downstairs.

At least that was what I thought until my feet hit the bottom of the stairs, and I saw my best friend and his dad flanking my father in the middle of our living room.

My fully dressed and showered father.

I blinked, trying to figure out if this was some twisted part of the dream I was still in. I hadn’t seen my dad look this put together in over two years. Hell, I don’t think I had seen him upright this year at all.

His plaid shirt was wrinkled and too big in places, and I knew the only reason his jeans stayed up was because of the belt cinched tight. But his eyes were open and alert, if a little bloodshot. His dark hair, longer than mine and streaked with silver, was still wet and had been neatly combed, tucked behind his ears.

And there was a duffel bag at his feet.

Wary, I leaned against the wall, crossing my ankles and waiting for an explanation.

“Hi, son.” Dad’s voice had a gravelly rasp from years of alcohol being poured down it.

“What’s going on?” I asked. I stared at him, raising my brows as I waited for an answer.

Dad’s fingers twitched nervously at his sides as he let out a long sigh. His head drooped as his eyes went to the floor, unable to meet my gaze.

Fucking submitting to his own son.

There was a time my dad had been one of Gabe’s betas, if not his most trusted beta, in Blackwater. Then my mom left and Dad fell apart, leaving the shell of the man standing in front of me now.

Gabe clapped a firm hand on my father’s bony shoulder, the gesture supportive even as Dad flinched. “Your dad is going away for a bit, Rhodes.”

“Away?” I repeated.

Dad lifted his head, and my eyes narrowed at the emotion swirling in his eyes. “I’m going to get help, son. I’m going to get better.”

I blinked slowly, processing the words. “Better? You’re going to rehab?”

He nodded. “Gabe helped set it up.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “There’s a center for shifters in northern California. He’ll go there for treatment for a few weeks. Maybe a few months.” Gabe smiled encouragingly at my dad. “However long it takes for your dad to get back on his feet.”

I had heard of the place they were talking about. There were a few different rehab facilities around the US run by shifters for shifters. Along with a lot of fun bonus features of being a shifter—increased healing, faster reflexes—also came a barrage of super strong emotions and issues that led to a lot of shifters self-medicating with alcohol and drugs.

Something stupid that felt a lot like hope swelled in me.

I squashed it down immediately.

“Good for you,” I said, keeping my tone even and aloof. Rehab was a new step, but my dad had attempted to get clean several times over the years.

Considering the empty cans covering every surface and the half-stocked fridge, I wasn’t willing to go all in on his newfound sobriety.

The worst part was I could see Remy staring at me, trying to figure out where my head was. I loved my best friend, but I didn’t need him here for this. He was my brother in every way but blood, but there were some things he didn’t get about my life, and this was at the top of the list.

Remy had two amazing parents. He had a big family and never had to teach himself how to cobble together a dinner from stale crackers and flat ginger ale when his dad forgot to go to the store or pay the water bill.

I knew he wanted me to be happy, or at least optimistic about this, but I had done the hopeful son routine the first three times Dad tried sobriety on. It was one bitter disappointment after the next. Now I focused on moving forward, each day getting me closer to graduation when I could be done with this whole mess and move on.

Right now, I needed my dad to get out. The sooner he left, the sooner he relapsed, and the sooner my life went back to the tenuous sort of normal I could tolerate.

“Mallory and I would love for you to come and stay with us while he’s gone,” Gabe offered, but even he knew it was a pointless gesture.

“I’m fine here,” I replied, folding my arms over my chest.

Dad stepped forward, his head still bowed. “I’m going to get better. I promise, Rhodes.”

I might have believed it if I hadn’t heard that at least twenty times in my life. If he hadn’t still flinched when he said my fucking name.

Rhodes .

As in Margaret Elizabeth Rhodes .

My mom’s maiden name.

Dad had insisted I be named in some way to honor my deadbeat mother before she decided a mate and a kid were too much trouble. The proudest day of his life had been when she took his name. He felt it only right that their son should bear both of their names. Which sounded great until Mommy dearest packed a bag and walked out fourteen years ago.

Growing up, Dad had rarely called me by my name. It was always ‘son’ or the occasional ‘champ’ when he was really loaded and binge watching sports. Hardly ever Rhodes, and definitely not when he was sober.

“Good for you, Dad,” I said after a beat, nodding my head. “I hope this works out for you.”

His face twisted slightly. “For us, son. I’m doing this for us .”

“Good,” I repeated, not sure what else there was to say. I didn’t have it in me to give him a hug and wish him well. Tell him to, what? Write? Call? Ask me to come visit for family day?

Not fucking likely.

“Let’s go, Tom,” Gabe said softly, heading for the door.

With a nod, my dad followed him. Remy stayed behind, his dark eyes assessing everything like always.

Dad stopped in the doorway, hesitating a second before he looked back at me. “I’m sorry, Rhodes. For all of it.”

I nodded once and swallowed hard, shoving down the emotions that tried to bubble to the surface. I hated that deep down, part of me was still that little boy who wanted his dad. The boy who wanted a normal family.

Most of the time I could ignore Dad or accept his bullshit for what it was. But the apologies always did me in. They were few and far between, only borne of moments of sober clarity when he would look around and realize what he had done. What he had become.

That usually led to even more drinking.

Without another word, he ducked out of the house, pulling the front door closed as he went. As soon as it shut, I exhaled loudly.

“You okay?” Remy asked, his dark eyes searching for any chink in my armor.

I pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchen. If Dad was going to be gone for a while, I was going to clean this place up.

“All good,” I replied as I walked away. I went to the sink and opened the door under it, pulling out a bucket and what meager cleaning supplies we had.

“Do you know if bleach has an expiration date?” I called over my shoulder, studying the white jug for any type of number.

Remy came in behind me, but stayed in the doorway. “Why don’t you come back to my place for today? We can hang out, play video games.”

I knelt in front of the open cupboard, pulling out a bottle of green window cleaner I was pretty sure was supposed to be blue. “No, thanks.”

“Rhodes,” Remy started.

“Don’t you have a mate you can hang out with?” I cut him off. Maybe bringing up Skye would get him to lay off of me. Sometimes I missed that Remy wasn’t always around the way he had been before Skye came into the picture, but I couldn’t hate how happy she made him.

Maybe I could distract him by dangling her like a freaking carrot. That usually worked.

Remy smirked. “She’s with Larkin.”

Of course.

He plowed ahead, knowing that I couldn’t use her as a distraction. “Seriously, let’s just—”

“Can we not, man?” I cut him off, my spine stiffening as my control started to snap. “I don’t know how long this round of sober Daddy is going to last, so I’d at least like to clean this place before he comes back and adds another layer of aluminum and dirt to it.”

He fell silent behind me. I knew the alpha in him wanted to help. Hell, I knew the best friend in him wanted to help.

But right now I was too volatile. Cleaning with the most abrasive ingredients I could find until I was dizzy off the chemical haze would have to be my distraction. If I were back at GPA, I could probably find a willing female to distract me for a few hours, but right now that wasn’t an option.

Not that it would have mattered.

Every girl I hooked up with, there was only one face I saw.

One face I was trying to escape.

“Why don’t I help you, and then you can come back to our house for dinner?” Remy counter offered.

I growled low in my throat, spinning on the balls of my feet to glare up at him. “Dammit, Rem—”

“Or you can be the one to tell my mom you’re not coming over,” he finished innocently.

That shut me up.

Mallory Holt had all but formally adopted me years ago. She was the closest thing to a mother I had. Odds were if I didn’t make an appearance for her to see me in person today, she would march down here to see for herself.

I made a face at him. “Threatening me with your mom now?”

“Whatever it takes,” he replied, arching a brow. “Besides, Skye’s coming over for dinner, too. If she doesn’t see you, you know she’ll be coming over with Mom.”

Fair enough. Post-abduction and coma, Skye and I had fallen into a somewhat sibling relationship. I knew her well enough to know she would be riding shotgun as Mama Mallory drove.

I blew out a long breath. “Fine. But we need to go to the store first for supplies. I’m worried if I mix a couple of these old bottles I’ll blow the damn house up.”

Remy grinned knowingly, pulling his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive.”