17. Dark and Dangerous Man

17

Dark and Dangerous Man

T hank God I have an extra pair of clothes in my car. My hands shake as I pull on a fresh pair of jeans and strategically switch my t-shirt to an old concert shirt from a few years ago. I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It's not even eight in the morning. The road is desolate, so I don't worry about anyone getting a free show as I change.

I pull down the visor and run my hands through my hair, examining the damage. Surprisingly, I don't look too bad. A shower and a fuck did me good, but even with my improved appearance, there's no way I can go back to Granny's. What am I supposed to say to her? "Hey, Granny, are you and my parents part of some mythical werewolf and hunter lore?" If what Jack said is true, she probably won't remember anything. From my experience bringing up my parents to her, I expect the same glaze to wash over her face and her mind to reset.

I plug my phone into my car charger and drive, planning to clear my head anywhere open this early before giving her a call.

It doesn't take long for the park to come into view. Cars pack the parking lot, and soccer games are in full swing on the fields. Perfect. I don't want to be alone right now. I want to be with normal people, living normal lives that have nothing to do with monsters and fairytales. Plus, there's a coffee stand in the center of the park. What could be more perfect?

I pull in, parking in the farthest spot, and walk over to the stand to grab a black coffee. Kids yell all around me, and I catch the tired expressions of their parents as they do their best to wield their children to their next activity. God, I can't imagine exuding so much energy so early in the morning, but right now, being exhausted from dealing with normal children seems much better than being exhausted from werewolf hunting. How did my parents do it?

I walk the edge of one of the fields closest to me, trying to remember everything about my parents as I can. They used to take me to this park. It looked completely different eighteen years ago, but the same large oak trees shaded the park's corners. I remember swinging from them, my dad climbing up after me, pretending that if he caught me, he'd gobble me up. Tears push at the corner of my eye ducts, and I clench my palms, trying to gather my emotions.

I've tried my best not to think about my parents much since their death. It's always been too painful, and once it starts, it leads to a spiral of despair, but now it seems I need to think about them—to remember every detail I can to detangle this mess. Sure, I could just go back to New York and put this part of my life behind me, but I'm already in too deep. How can I expect to carry on with all the questions swirling through me?

"Watch out!" someone yells before something bangs against my head.

I fall to the grass, my vision blurry.

"Oh, shit," a gruff voice whispers angrily as the source gets closer. "Are you okay?"

I sit up, my head still swirling but starting to slow. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, resting my head in my hands to regain my focus. Obviously, I don't feel great, but I'm too embarrassed that I just fell on my ass, and now people are probably staring at me. I need to pretend to be fine and get to my car and cry.

Someone crouches in front of me, and I meet their gaze.

"Shit," he says.

It's like ice water pours down my back. I know that voice.

"Shit," I say back, his face finally steadying before me, his pupils dilating and sucking me in like black holes. His eyes are lighter than before. Maybe it's just because we're out in the sun instead of the dark and rainy forest, but I swear they look as if they hold a glow.

A smile creeps up at the corner of his lips, and he shakes his head before grabbing the soccer ball beside me, standing, and offering me his hand. "Of course, it's you." His dark hair is slicked back, and a small strand falls in the middle of his forehead.

"Of course, it's you." I scowl at him and grab his hand, ignoring the static electricity that jolts through me and lugging myself up.

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say now?" He steps closer, his fingers grazing across the throbbing spot on my head where the ball landed. "Maybe you got hit harder than I thought."

I'm frozen for a moment, his warm touch seeping into my pores, but then I jerk back and swat his hand away .

"I'm fine." I look down, straightening my shirt and wiping leaves from my backside. Seeing Cameron in his dry-fit grey shirt and athletic shorts sobers me from the pain in my head. He's just as handsome as I remembered, even in these dorky camp counselor clothes. "Why did you throw a soccer ball at me?" I ask, looking around the field. Next to me, a co-ed team of kids have their eyes glued to us.

He laughs and throws the ball to the group of children, bringing a silver whistle to his lips and blows. A boy runs up to the ball and kicks it to the group. All eyes turn away from us and back to the children running around the green field.

"I didn't throw a soccer ball at you. One of the kids just gained superhuman strength and kicked it over here instead of into the net."

My eyes trail up and down his body. "Is one of them your kid?" I can't imagine this dark and dangerous man fathering a child, but seeing him in these more casual clothes, the image starts to materialize in my mind.

He laughs again. "God, no. I'm just a volunteer coach."

"Why?"

He scrunched his face. "Why? Why not?"

I shake my head. Of course, that was a stupid question. The ball may have done more damage to my frontal lobe than I thought. "Sorry, you just don't seem the type of guy to volunteer to coach soccer out of the kindness of your heart." Yep, didn't make it any better.

He arches his neck back. "Shit, you really think poorly of me from our short meeting. May I remind you that I'm a park ranger? Coaching a community soccer team is exactly the kind of activity someone like me would do in my spare time."

I shake my head. "Right. I'm sorry. I've just had a confusing day and am not feeling myself."

The crowd watching the soccer game next to us erupts in boisterous cheers.

We turn our attention to the kids crowding around one child pumping his fists in the air. The goalie of the opposite team swoops up the ball from the net.

Cameron smiles, his dark eyes crinkling as he watches.

The edges of my heart start to melt watching him.

He turns back to me, and I steel my expression, feeling caught. He looks down at my empty paper coffee cup on the ground before leaning to pick it up. "Looks like I owe you a coffee. Stay for a few minutes, and I'll take you somewhere with a decent drip."

"Uhhh…" but before I can answer, he runs back to the field, turning to wink at me before he joins the celebrating team.

It looks like I can't really say no. I should get back to Granny and start figuring out this mess, but then an idea pops into my mind. Cameron is a Park Ranger who seems to have a history with Jack. If anyone knows about the magical woods, it's him.