Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Jesse

(Author note: if you've forgotten who he is, he was the douchey boyfriend from Cross to Bear)

I woke the same way I did every morning now, to the sound of my phone going off. I set it on silent, but apparently that didn't preclude the rhythmic buzz of the ringer. I could've set it to do not disturb. That would've prevented anyone from waking me up, but as I rolled over, the old bed frame creaking in protest, I stared at the screen. Mum , it said in large, white letters.

Except Nelly wasn't really my mother.

The only real maternal figure I'd known, I felt all the guilt, all the shame, a son would feel when my thumb hovered over the reject call button. But with those emotions came a whole lot of other shit and that's what had me hanging up on her. I'd jumped in a car and let Roxy drive me eight hours away to get clear of this shit. No point opening that door.

So why did I play the voicemail when it inevitably came in?

"Hey, baby." Mum was trying to keep the tears from her voice and failing badly. I could almost see them falling, creating a panda mask of mascara around her eyes. "Just touching base, checking in on you." Like she did every other morning. "Thought you might like to know, your dads…" Not my actual dads, the men who got me on my birth mother and then took off without a second look, leaving other men to move in and fill the role of father, more or less. "They've moved out. The house… It's so empty, Jess."

It would be. She loved to fill the place with people. Always one for a party, my adopted mother, because when the halls were filled with noise, it quietened the voice inside her head. The one that told her she wasn't enough, that she'd never be enough. I knew that because I had a similar one inside mine. That was the nature of our bond, one that seemed to supersede the one she had with her mates, with her own son.

"I… I miss you, sweetheart. Bjorn's not talking to me and… Jess."

She stopped herself from spilling her guts, that was the difference between her and my birth mother. The woman that bore me didn't hold anything back, not even her deadshit boyfriends. When one too many had used me as a punching bag, the bear community stepped in, removing me from her care and giving me to Nelly. They reasoned that she was stable, in a committed relationship with a solid sleuth, and her own experiences with abuse would help her raise me.

Unfortunately, it helped a little too much.

"I know they sent you away, told you that you need to get it together." There was Nelly, making up her own narrative to suit herself. "I know they're telling you that the best place for you is away from me, but that's not true, baby. We can make things better, together."

But we couldn't. Together we'd managed to fuck everything up, for my brother, for our family, for… my ex. I closed my eyes for just a second, Mum's ramblings falling away, but when I opened them again, I deleted the message, just like I had the others. I sucked in one breath, then another, bringing my focus back to here, now. As if in response to that, I heard a knock on the door.

"You up, bear boy?"

Gregor was his real name, but here everyone called him Greg, was my boss, my landlord, my jailor. He pounded on the door when I didn't answer fast enough.

"I'm up," I shouted back.

"Shit, shower, and shave, boy, then get your arse out here. There's a job coming in today."

I shook my head and did exactly as the grumpy fox shifter said, minus the shave. He snorted at my shaggy appearance when I appeared in the garage, but I was clean and dressed in yet another fading pair of overalls, ready to work, which is all he really cared about.

"What job…?"

Just as I started to ask, a beat up looking ute came clunking into the garage car park, the ever present dust rising in plumes. There was a reason Coober Pedy was the movie set of choice for post-apocalyptic films. It was dry, insanely hot, and shitty and he was just making it worse. Dropping out of the car with the kind of cock of the walk attitude small men always seemed to put on at the pub, I knew he was trouble the moment he walked up.

"Heard you're the bloke to see about getting my car fixed?" he said to Greg.

Greg was a fox shifter, and where there was one, there was always many. Other mechanics came strolling out of the garage, ready to take a look. That had the bloke looking squirrelly which was… interesting.

"Maybe."

Greg was noncommittal.

"Look, I don't have time to fuck around," the bloke said, like he was the one with the power here. There wasn't another garage for miles in any direction. "The engines been making this fucking noise for the last few hours of the trip, and I can't push it past 60km an hour. The temperature gauge is in the red and?—"

"We'll take a look at it," Greg told him. "Pub's that way. You'll want to rent a room." He looked the car over, as if he could see something we couldn't. "Parts for a late model car like this need to be ordered in."

"What?" This bloke was human, so I nearly laughed as he fluffed up like a cat, as if that would be enough to impress Greg. Even in human form my boss could put this prick on his arse so fast his head would spin. "I need to get on the fucking road, mate." Only Australians seem to be able to use that word with such venom. "Got places to be."

"Try your luck on the road then." Greg took a slow step forward. He was a little bloke, wiry, but strong, and I think that's what had the customer thinking he could intimidate my boss, but that was never going to happen. "Or buy a new car."

"I can't…"

I felt a moment of empathy for the customer then, because I knew well how implacable Greg was. I'd raged, swore, cursed, and generally made a bloody fool of myself when I first started here months ago and he'd just stared at me the entire time, waiting for me to exhaust myself like a child having a tantrum.

"I can't afford to do that," the guy said finally, minding his tone.

"Then we'll make sure you have a detailed quote for repairs sent over to you today, so you can determine whether or not you can afford them." The guy seemed to sense he was being dismissed, so he nodded and then thrust out the car keys. "And what was your name, mate?" Greg asked.

"Phil," the customer ground out. "My name is Phil Jackson."