Chapter 32

Thirty-Two

EMERY

“ I can’t believe this happened.” Sidney hugs my twin even tighter as she cries into his neck. “How can Minnie be dead?”

Ethan murmurs something noncommittally—his voice too low for even me to hear with my wolf senses—and strokes our sister’s snarled hair.

It’s been a few hours since Sidney received word that her packmate and friend Minnie passed away. I can’t even imagine the grief Sidney must be feeling. If I were to lose Ethan or Ashton or Reid or Izzy…

I may be pissed at almost all of them, but losing them would be the equivalent of having a limb hacked off. No, worse than that. It would be a type of death that I’m not sure I would survive—I would still be breathing, yes, but my heart would cease functioning. I’m not sure it’d ever be able to work properly again.

Almost against my will, my gaze snags on Ethan.

How can I love and hate someone so fiercely? Losing Ethan would destroy me, but allowing him into my life, after everything he’s done…

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, the coiled ball of tension that tastes like cement, and force myself to look away.

The three of us are in the living room. Ethan and Sidney have claimed the couch, but I remain standing, staring intently at the roaring flames of the fire. Their soft red and orange glow illuminates the darkened room. None of us bothered to turn on any lights when we retreated here.

And as fucked up as this makes me, all I can think is—at least it wasn’t Izzy.

God, how easily it could’ve been her.

The mere thought splits me open from throat to navel, leaving my entrails on the ground, a disarranged mess of red and pink.

Everything with Izzy is fucked up. Our pack is made up of disparate pieces that are unable to form a coherent picture. We don’t know how to act together, how to work together, how to survive together. We’re no better than the lone wolves that eventually go feral.

I miss my pack.

I miss my twin.

I miss Izzy.

I barely know the girl, yet my heart craves her presence, is drawn to that effervescent grin that shatters me into pieces and reforges me into something new.

Will she ever forgive me for keeping this a secret?

I know I’m not the only one to blame, but I was her friend. I am still her friend, even if she doesn’t consider me one. And that bond should’ve superseded any other.

Friends tell friends the truth.

I lick my suddenly dry lips as emotions ravage me.

Anger at Ashton and Ethan.

Grief for a life that was taken too soon.

Anguish that my sister is suffering.

Fear that Izzy will never forgive me.

And terror—a potent type of terror that steals the breath from my lungs—that our pack will never be whole.

I vow to myself, right then and there, surrounded by the ghosts of those we lost, that I’ll do better. Be better. I refuse to give up on Izzy or my pack.

Not now.

Not ever.

Sometime later, Sidney drifts off to sleep, and Ethan carries her to her bedroom. The room has barely been in use since Sidney moved into her apartment, but Mom always makes sure to keep it clean.

My sister looks so small beneath the mound of blankets, so vulnerable.

My heart pinches painfully as I follow my brother out of the room, shutting the door behind me softly.

The two of us don’t acknowledge one another as we bypass both of our bedrooms and take a right near the kitchen. There, we descend a long staircase that leads to a half-finished room below.

It was a project my dad started years ago, before everything went to shit. He enlisted our help in completing it. But then Dad got distracted by pack politics, and the basement never got completed. It’s nothing but a concrete jungle full of pipes, padding, and rusty tools.

Ethan and I used to hide away down here whenever we wanted a break from our parents and sister. They never thought to look in the place they abandoned, allowing it to be eaten by dust and spiderwebs.

The two of us haven’t been down here in a year.

Two beanbags—one red and one blue—sit in front of a dirty television that has a long crack down the screen. We found it one time in the dumpster. We think it used to belong to Sidney. Surprisingly enough, it still works, though the picture is fuzzy and sometimes indistinct.

Ethan drops himself into the blue beanbag while I claim the red. I suddenly feel like a little kid again—escaping the world and everyone in it. The only person I ever wanted by my side back then was my brother.

Ethan throws his head back until he’s staring up at the half-finished ceiling. His tattooed arms flex where he’s gripping the edges of the beanbag.

“Everything is so fucked up.” His voice is hoarse. Raspy with some indecipherable emotion.

I wonder if his thoughts traveled down the same path as mine did. If he thought about our crumbling pack. About Izzy.

When I remain silent, lost in the tempest of my own thoughts, Ethan prowls ahead, his voice a rugged exhale. “Izzy hates us. Ashton is on my shit list. Reid is…well…Reid. And you…” His breath hitches. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I snap immediately. Instinctively.

I don’t know why I’m trying to comfort him, only that I am. His pain pries me apart in a way I haven’t allowed it to in months. Maybe even years.

Ethan laughs, but the noise is devoid of any humor. “You can’t even freaking look at me anymore, Em.” He blows out a breath. “I know I messed up. I know that. And I know you have no reason to trust me anymore?—”

“I trust you with my life. With the life of our mate,” I cut in, my tone scathing. I rub a hand down my face. “I’m so fucking angry at you, Ethan. When I look at you, I just see that night all over again.”

The blood.

The screams.

The tears.

A shudder works its way through me, causing the breath to seize in my chest.

“I could apologize a million times, but it won’t make a difference,” Ethan whispers. “I know I fucked up. I know what I did is unforgivable. I know all of that. We’re tied to Desiree because of my actions, because of what I did. If I could go back in time, I would.”

“Why did you do it, man?” The question has been haunting me for a while now. “I supported you. I did everything for you. How could you do this to me? To our pack? To yourself?”

Ethan doesn’t respond, and I wonder if he’s thinking of an answer. The silence stretches between us until it’s as taut as a bowstring, but still, he doesn’t respond. Doesn’t offer an explanation.

But that’s okay.

I’m not the one who needs the answers to those questions. He does.

“Will you ever tell Izzy about…?” I allow my words to taper off, leaving the question unspoken, hanging stagnant in the air like a plume of poisonous gas.

“I’ll tell her,” Ethan says, finally lifting his head to stare at me. He uses his pointer finger to slide his glasses back into place. “I’ll tell her everything.”

“She won’t hate you,” I whisper, the words tugged from between my numb lips. “That’s not the type of person she is.”

“We barely know what type of person she is,” Ethan points out. “We pushed her away. We can blame Ashton all we want, but it’s all of our faults. You. Me. Reid. Ashton.”

“I’m not giving up on her.” I don’t know if my words are a warning, a threat, or both.

“I’m not either.”

Both of us recline back in the beanbags and allow the silence to settle between us. It’s not necessarily comfortable, but it’s no longer fraught with tension. Dare I say that it’s companionable?

Internally, I plan.

The next time I see Izzy, I’ll prove to her how sorry I am.

We’re a pack, and I’ll do whatever it takes to pick up our shattered pieces and make us whole once more.