2. Orion

Chapter 2

Orion

" M other. I'm a grown man. I am not going to forget to pick up the steak for dinner."

My mother pauses on the other end of the phone. "Well, how far from the store are you?"

I might be a grown man who absolutely forgot to pick up the steak this morning, but I'm not stupid. "I'm just turning into the parking lot now."

"It doesn't sound like you're in the parking lot."

I've been out doing some work on one of the properties that I just acquired. Lately, I've been buying some of the old shacks in the greater Oakwood area, some in town, some not, fixing them up to rent out to tourists or to some of the new arrivals in the pack. Thorne pays me a small stipend from the pack housing fund if it's to a pack member, but the tourists are the best, because I can charge them an arm and a leg, and they're happy to pay it in order to experience the Colorado wilderness.

This place in particular is great. I had to scrape it, but now there's a cute little three-bedroom A-frame log cabin that sits right on a pond, overlooking a meadow that looks verdantly green against the bluish-purple peaks rising behind it.

"It sounds like you're at home."

I hop into my truck, which I can't risk starting because then she'll know that I am not, in fact, turning into the parking lot at the grocery store.

"Mother. You can't hear the parking lot."

"I can hear when you're on Bluetooth in the car. It sounds scratchy," she says firmly.

Fuck. I bang my head on the back of the seat. "I'm getting the steaks."

"Okay. Don't forget to ask Tom for extra?—"

"Steak seasoning. I got it, Mother," I say.

She sniffs, and I curse at my temper. "I'm just trying to remind you. I want us to have a nice time tonight," my mother says, her voice wobbly.

Ugh. I don't even want to go to dinner at her house tonight. I've been going every week since I moved out, a bargain that I struck so that she'd stop crying about me moving out.

It's not like I get any time alone. Between work and my mother, I am constantly busy.

"And maybe we can talk about some of the nice young ladies in town," she adds before I'm able to reply.

Double fuck. She knows that I won't say no, because I don't want her to cry. "I'll see you tonight," I say instead.

"Okay. Love you, Orion."

"Love you, too."

I quickly shut the phone off and grip the steering wheel. I have to be careful. Last month, I had to replace the stupid thing, because on a phone call just like this one, I got frustrated and snapped it apart.

She wants to talk about mates. Again.

Fuck me.

I know I'm not getting any younger. That thirtieth birthday looms closer than ever, but honestly? I don't care.

The one woman who I wanted to be my mate left. She lives in Florida. Haven't heard from her since the day she disappeared.

I have zero interest in anyone else.

The pain of Calista leaving doesn't even feel like an old wound. It's as fresh and terrible now as it was when she left years ago. Probably because we never talked about it. I just woke up, and poof, she was gone.

Hell, I didn't even wake up. Calista was supposed to come back from shopping with Amara and Ember, but my mom showed up instead. She harangued me about Calista, she tried to dismiss how I felt about her, and she started telling me about someone else in the pack she wanted me to mate instead. In no uncertain terms, I told her no.

Then Calista was gone.

To this day, I'm not sure why. All I know is that she never showed up that night and never contacted me again.

It's not like I could tell my mom about how hurt I was, either. The look of triumph on her face after she figured it out was awful.

Her diatribe was even worse.

I told you. She's not a nice girl. She's from Florida. People from Florida can't be trusted.

How my mother arrived at that conclusion? No fucking clue.

Sadly, she might have been right.

It's been nearly five years, and I still can't get over Calista. I've been to a therapist to talk about it, and they taught me a lot of great strategies for dealing with the pain. Acceptance, mostly. Learning to accept what's in the past is the past.

I've accepted Calista's gone.

Would I do anything just to have more time with her? Hell yes. Absolutely. Whatever it is I did, or she did, I want to just let it go. I want her back, still.

However, there's no point in wishing for that. If she ever came back, I'd want to see her again. I'd spend whatever time I could with her.

But she's not here.

All I have is my job, the pack, and dinner with my mother.

Sighing, I turn on the truck and pull onto the road. I live downtown, where there are still some humans who live in Oakwood, despite the increasing presence of shifters. My mother's cabin is back in the woods a little, where she has zero neighbors to bother her, or so she thinks.

I chose that spot for her so that she wouldn't bother anyone else.

My mother is… difficult. She always has been. Ever since my father left, she's been a little more than just overbearing. She's always in my business, always trying to make decisions or do things that she thinks I need, even if I don't. It's like she can't let go of the pup that I was and accept the man that I am.

It's annoying. It was the other source of many conversations with the therapist, and I learned a lot about distancing myself from her.

The way she treats me isn't fun. And it's getting worse as she ages.

Still, I love her. I understand why she acts like this. She's not a bad person.

She's just afraid. Of everything.

I pull into the grocery store parking lot, park, and wander inside to get the steak that she wants us to have for dinner.

Oakwood is a small town. We have a small store. It's old, the floor creaks when you step on it, and the butcher closes his counter for an unpredictable number of hours every day to take a daily nap—which I just happen to walk into.

I see Tom turning over his little ‘be back later' sign right as I roll around the corner. "No!" I yell, causing several heads to turn and look over at me as I rush to the counter.

Tom, who is the oldest wolf I've ever met and either willingly or functionally unable to hear my protests, doesn't flinch. He shuts the door to his office, and I know that I'm in for a several-hour wait now.

His naptime isn't exactly short. It's also not predictable. And there's no guarantee that if he comes out and serves some customers, that he'll stay for the whole day.

He could, and often has, gone right back in for another nap before his shift is over. There's no point in leaving to come back later, because you never know if later is going to be just as fruitless. The only option is to wait it out and hang here until the creak of the office door sounds again.

I shut my eyes. Shit.

Might as well go grab a snack or something while I'm here.

I meander through the store, which is about half the size of the average store back in the city. There's not a lot of space for me to just… noodle around.

I end up in the cereal aisle, where I notice that Sandra, the woman who owns the grocery, has finally restocked my favorite: Cocoa Krispies.

I reach forward, my fingers brushing the box, when I hear someone behind me suck in a breath.

I turn.

For a second, it's like I'm hallucinating. There's a woman in front of me who looks so much like Calista. It's shocking. She's tall, with the same dark brown hair that cascades over her shoulders, thinner brown pieces hanging around her face like a frame. Her dark brown eyes widen as she takes me in, and she shifts slightly, causing the muscles in her legs to flex as she moves them in her cutoff shorts.

When she raises one hand and smooths her hair back, I know I'm not seeing things. The gesture is exactly what Calista would do.

I can't help it. I'm running on pure instinct. Any of the hurt and pain that I once felt is completely masked by the shock that's rushing through me.

I open my mouth.

"Calista?"

She looks to the side, eyes darting at my shoulder, like she's trying to judge if she can run.

"Is that really you?"

This can't be real. It's like everything I've hoped for in the last five years suddenly appeared in front of me.

All I want is more time with her.

And here she is.

Instead of sprinting away, which I have no doubt she was considering, she hesitates. A minute later, she nods, the movement stiff and jerky like she's doing it without much control over herself.

"Hi," she whispers.

It's absolutely Calista's voice. Five years ago, it was honeyed and sweet, and now there's a little rasp to it, like she's struggling to get the word out. But there's no doubt about it.

This is Calista. Standing in front of me. In the Oakwood grocery store, in the cereal aisle.

Looking at me. I haven't seen her since the pack was in Alaska. What are the chances she came to Oakwood, Colorado?

At that moment, I'm more than just shocked.

The world as I know it shatters.