Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

I rose before the sun with my thoughts already spinning. I was so distracted I didn't notice Kicks lying on the floor until it was too late. I fell onto him, hearing a grunt as my knee connected with a sensitive spot.

"Oh no, are you okay?" I scrambled off him, my heart pounding.

Kicks nodded but held up a finger, silently asking for a moment.

"It's not my fault," I said, grimacing as he looked as if he could barely breathe. "I didn't expect you to be there."

Waiting for him to compose himself, I noticed the blanket and pillow on the floor.

"You slept here?" I asked, my voice sounding smaller somehow.

"Yes," he replied, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he finally got to his feet. "It was bothering you that I was sleeping at the mill."

Hope sparked in my chest. Maybe he hadn't been with anyone else recently? Rastin's advice echoed in my mind: you don't walk away from a man like Kicks. He was right, but I didn't see a way forward.

"Thanks," I said.

"I wanted to talk to you before Charlie got up. I know you were looking at the maps, and I can guess why."

This was no surprise. I'd left handwritten notes of possible places I could live and be self-sufficient on different pages. Most of the places were near small bodies of water, where fishing might be feasible. The maps had a layer of dust and seemed like they'd never been used. Who would imagine he'd suddenly want to look at them?

"I don't want to leave, but I can't shake the feeling that it might come to that," I said. I'd never wanted to lie about it. Part of me still hoped some miracle would occur that would allow me to make a home here with Charlie and, yes, Kicks.

"I reached out to the guide in California. He couldn't tell me much over the phone, but he said if we go there, he'd try to help, maybe give us an idea if it's you and there's something we can do to fix it. It's a long shot, but it's all we've got at the moment. I would've mentioned it earlier but there were a couple of hiccups."

Me. I was the hiccup. No one wanted anything to do with me—not even a pack thousands of miles away. No one but Kicks was standing by me, and yet in order to not ruin his life and Charlie's, I might have to leave them both.

"We'll work this out. Just promise me you won't take off on your own?"

"I'll try," I said, knowing it was the best I could offer. He deserved honesty. If I could say goodbye when the time came, I would, but I wouldn't make that promise.

Kicks had headed out, likely to the mill or to tackle another project in need of repair. The community had enlarged, and the growing pains were far from over. I'd grab a hammer and help if I didn't think it would scare away all the other workers.

I'd just dropped Charlie at school, which was going better than I'd hoped, when there was a knock at my door. An older man stood outside, looking in. They'd said Zetti was the oldest in the pack, but this man appeared to have some years on her. With so many people around, a stranger wouldn't have been easily let in. As I looked past him, no one seemed to notice or care about his presence.

"Can I help you?" I asked, opening the door.

"My name is Old Freddy. Wanted to pay my respects to the new mate." He had the kind of friendly demeanor of the lucky few who could put anyone at ease, even me.

"Oh. Um, okay. Would you like to come in?" I held the door open.

He walked in, leaning on his cane, looking about the place.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I offered, trying to be polite.

"Nah, I'm all good," he said, sitting on the couch as if he planned to stay a while. "Nice little home you have here."

"Thanks." I'd figure he would've been in here before, but maybe he didn't get out much?

"Lots of tongues wagging, but I can tell you're a good sort."

"Thank you. You might be in the minority, but I appreciate the support."

"I wouldn't upset yourself about Zetti. She wasn't as good as they say she was. It's one of the reasons I wanted to come have this chat with you."

"Um, okay." This was not a conversation I'd been expecting, but when someone this old spoke to me, I liked to hear them out.

"She wasn't that good," he repeated, louder this time.

"I appreciate your trying to make me feel better, if that's what you're doing." It was really the only thing that made sense.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm telling you, Zetti wasn't that good. Never could prove it, and no one would take me seriously, but she was a bad apple. I knew her my entire life, longer than anyone here. She hated humans with every fiber of her being. I heard whispers that she killed some, too. Before she started putting on the act, she did a lot of things she shouldn't have. She wasn't the saint she's made out to be. If your gift worked on her, it was for a reason."

I nodded, not sure what to say. Part of me wanted to pump him for more details. Another part of me was afraid it was some kind of gag. Was the pack screwing with me now? Was this a practical joke?

I was relieved of having to say anything because Old Freddy suddenly got up, his eyes widening. "Oh no. She's coming for me. Best get going."

He made his way to the door, where a young woman appeared. "Old Freddy, are you telling your tales again? You know that's not nice."

"It's not tales if it's true," he said as he walked out of the house.

The young woman turned her attention to me. "He likes to sneak some sips and then gets creative. I wouldn't listen to him," she said, then moved to follow him.

She leaned closer to him as they walked away, whispering something I couldn't hear, but I would've sworn she was warning him not to visit me again.

Logs burned in the fireplace, casting a warm glow and the scent of wood through the room. The crackling was the only sound as I waited for Kicks to return home for the night. Charlie had gone to sleep hours ago.

He'd had to run out earlier because the repair to the mill hadn't held, but I knew I'd never be able to sleep until I got this off my chest.

The door finally opened and Kicks walked in. "I told you I'd sleep here. You didn't have to wait up for me."

"That's not it."

"What's wrong?" he asked softly as he settled on the couch.

"I had an unexpected talk with someone today," I said, curling my legs under me.

"Did someone give you a hard time?" he asked, the tendons in his neck immediately tensing. "Just so we're clear, I'm not Duncan. When someone comes at you, I want to know about it."

I didn't need the reminder of how different the two of them were. It was more obvious every day. When I first committed to coming here, I'd kept my distance, afraid I'd get hurt. The situation had completely flipped. Now I was afraid just being around me was hurting him.

"No, nothing like that," I replied, shaking my head. "I want to talk to you about it, but I don't want it to come off the wrong way."

"I won't judge. I'll just listen," he assured me.

I bit my lip, hesitant to repeat the conversation. If it was a gag, I'd look like a fool. I wasn't sure I believed Old Freddy's words. I swallowed hard, feeling like the sound echoed in the quiet room.

"I just want your honest opinion. I don't want you to take what I'm going to tell you as my trying to make excuses for what happened."

"Understood," he said.

"Someone told me today that Zetti wasn't always such a good person. He said she wasn't who she appeared to be. He said he knew her when she was younger, and she hated humans. He even suspected she'd murdered some. I don't want to buy into it too much. I'm afraid because it makes me feel better about what happened, and I'm clinging to it to justify that. And he might be making this up."

"And you think that maybe what he told you could explain what happened?" Kicks asked.

"I'm not trying to throw excuses out there. I wasn't looking for him to speak to me. I'm just telling you about his visit, and I was curious if you've ever heard something like this before."

"No, but she also didn't live here her whole life. She was originally from a pack in Northern California," he explained.

"Do you speak to them? Is there any way we could follow up on this?" I asked.

"If you want to find out this kind of information, it's better to go in person. Who told you all this?"

"Old Freddy. Do you think you could talk to him? See if you can sniff out a lie in his words?"

He froze and then leaned back. "You want me to talk to Old Freddy ?"

"If you could. I didn't think it would be that big of a deal." At the mention of the name, his whole demeanor had seemed to shift.

"To Old Freddy ?" he repeated, as if he hadn't already asked that.

"Yes, to Old Freddy," I said firmly.

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't think that's going to be something I can help you with."

"It's fine. I'll try again on my own."

He'd repeatedly said he wanted to help, and the first thing I asked for, he wouldn't do it. He stared at me as if he couldn't believe I'd even ask such a thing. Then he wondered why I didn't ask for help?

"Pips, it's not that I won't. I can't. It's—"

"It's fine. You don't need to explain." I got off the couch, and he stood at the same time, grabbing my arm before I could leave.

"Pips, Old Freddy is dead. He's been dead for a couple of decades."

"Dead?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Yes. Dead ."

I only managed to shape an O with my lips. Well, on the bright side, that was a very good reason he couldn't help. At least my faith was restored in Kicks, even if I'd just shown my hand more than I'd wanted to.

"Are you sure there isn't another Old Freddy?" I asked, grasping at straws.

"There was only ever one Old Freddy."

There was no way I was telling him he had a nurse of some sort with him. She must've been a ghost too. Or something…

What was I becoming? It seemed as if no matter what I did, I was surrounded by death. I leaned a hip on the couch, trying to keep my composure and my legs underneath me. What I wouldn't give to go back to the good old days of wondering where my next meal was coming from.

"You don't look as shocked as I'd imagine," Kicks said, watching me closely, his hand still on my arm.

I moved back to the couch, missing the feel of his touch the second he let go.

"Because I might not be," I said. "After I transitioned, being able to kill people wasn't the only thing that changed. There are things that appear to me now. Well, not exactly things, but people." My voice trembled slightly. I hadn't seen Death in a while, and I wasn't ready to go there. The dead people were bad enough.

"You can speak to Jaysa," he said, his tone steady, as if he had already known, or at least strongly suspected it.

"You knew?" I asked.

"Remember when my pack member died throwing the ax at the hotel? That night you talked about Jaysa telling you things that you couldn't have known unless she'd spoken to you beyond the grave."

I remembered that night like I'd recorded it in hi-def in my mind. When he hadn't pushed me for more details, I'd thought I'd skated.

"You knew this whole time? Why didn't you say something?"

"It was a guess, and if you'd wanted to tell me, you would've." He walked closer. "Are there others?"

I wasn't sure if he wanted to know or felt compelled to ask.

"There's Widow Herbert, too."

"Anything else I should maybe know?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think we should just leave it at that for now," I said, not wanting to freak him out with anything else. This was plenty.

He nodded, looking satisfied to leave some things unsaid.

"I think we're going to have to get to California at some point soon," he said, finally breaking the silence after a couple heavy moments.

I nodded. I'd gladly go anywhere that offered answers at this point.