44. Grace

March 27, 1983

Tails,

I know this letter should arrive a few days before your trip to Los Angeles, and I can't tell you how excited I am to hear all about it. Marcus said Luca found a way to give him the time off work to be able to drive you there and back. I also ensured Luca gave him money from my account for food, gas, and some books for you while you're there, so don't worry about paying for anything. This is my gift since I can't be there for your big birthday.

(Before you say it, yes, I know your birthday isn't until April 18th, but there are only so many author signings happening in the world, and this was the closest I could find for you)

Can you believe we have almost reached the halfway point of the internship? I swear time is moving slower than before. I wish I could say my time out here has been full of helpful knowledge, alliances, and friends, but it hasn't. I've had to do some pretty terrible things to stay in the Alpha's good graces (ha, see what I did there?). When we talk about them, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me with the understanding that I am only doing this so we can have our forever.

I know you must be tired of hearing these, but I told you I could continue, and I will…

41: I miss the nights we sat up looking at the stars, waiting for one to fall so we could wish on it.

42: I miss watching you braid your hair, your agile fingers twirling and twisting it into beautiful patterns.

43: I miss your lips. I'd say on mine, but honestly, everywhere.

44: I miss you telling me you love me.

45: I miss burgers and shakes with extra fries to dip in them.

If I don't get to hear your voice or write another letter before, Happy Birthday Tails. We will celebrate once we are back together. Send pictures in your next letter. I need a reminder of how beautiful you are.

I love you,

D.

XX

After receiving Deacon's letter this morning, I could only hug the paper to my chest as tears flowed down my cheeks. I feel like I'm constantly crying these days—crying when he left, crying that he"s gone, crying when I hear from him, crying when I don"t.

I'm a mess.

Shaking my head to focus on the task, I grab the rag from my apron to clean off the large booth table that, until ten minutes ago, held twelve t-ball terrorists. Don't get me wrong, I love kids, but after a certain number, the level of chaos far exceeds my patience. They broke two glasses, spilled an entire pitcher of cola, popped a hole in the leather seat, and started a food fight.

It would have been worth it, but then the coach only gave me a $1.47 tip.

I took the section with the large tables because I need the money. I'd barely been able to argue with the power company to keep the lights on for another week until I could catch up on the balance. Worse, I'm leaving in two days for my birthday trip, and while I'm excited to get to go, missing two entire shifts is a lot right now.

Maybe Deacon will understand why I have to miss it.

My heart aches at the thought of telling him that, after all his planning and the money he spent on tickets and an overnight hotel stay, I can't go.

I'll find a way to do it. Maybe I can talk Marcus into driving us back right after so I can work the next day?

Marcus also worked a lot more this last week, and I only saw him on Saturday at the library.

I wonder if he remembers it's this Friday?

The telltale jingle over the door pulls my attention, and as if I had conjured him from my thoughts, he walks in.

"Well, hi there, Ace. Have a seat wherever you'd like, and I'll be right with you." I give him my genuine smile instead of my rehearsed one, and he returns it, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I take a moment to study him, realizing he looks worn out.

His movements are slow, and he lowers himself into a two-person booth outside my section. The grimace on his face tells me he"s healing from something.

"What happened?" I whisper as I slide into the other side of the booth.

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I can tell he wants to lie to me. His face gives away his indecision, and his eyes apologize without him saying a word. He inhales, ready to speak, and I shove a finger to his lips.

"Don't. I'd rather you not tell me anything than tell me a lie. Are you gonna be ok?" I ask, trying to take the attitude out of my voice. My irritation rising a level without me even really understanding why.

Deacon had to keep things from me all the time with pack business.

But he never lied.

Marcus nods, and I stand back up, pulling out my pad to take his order.

"Just a burger, no pickles, thank you," he says, his voice uncharacteristically small and his head dropping to his hands, both his elbows holding it up on the table.

"Um… I'm sorry…No pickles? Now, why in the world would you take off the best part of the burger?" I ask, momentarily forgetting my anger at him while trying to understand his order.

"I don't like them—pickles, that is. I don't like how they overpower everything," he shrugs.

"Well, I don't think I've ever been more surprised. And here I thought you had taste. You got it, Ace. One completely flavorless and altogether unimaginative burger," I say, turning to take the slip back to Pete.

He doesn't like pickles? I might have to rethink this friendship after all.

Marcus stayed in the diner for the rest of my shift, and when I clocked out, he stood up and joined me at the front door. I can't say I much appreciated the look on Pete's face as he watched us walk out together, but then again, most people didn't understand our friendship. In fact, most people didn't know he knew Deacon at all.

Pete can think whatever he wants.

"I wasn't going to lie to you," Marcus says, his voice pulling my attention to him. "Earlier in the diner. I wasn't going to lie. I just didn't know what I'm allowed to say about the work we have been doing on the perimeter."

"There were lots of things Deacon couldn't tell me, too. Pack business isn't for everyone in the pack, it seems. Don't worry about it. It's just not often I see you at less than a hundred percent," I explain.

"Just a scuffle. Nothing to worry about," he replies with a shrug.

"You boys and your ‘don't worry' proclamations. I swear you don't know a thing about women," I laugh before realizing I've never talked to him about his relationships.

"You all don't make it easy," he says with a lopsided grin.

"Well, I'm sure the girls back home want the same things we do: snacks, books, and you to be close by but to not interrupt our reading." I smile because it"s wild how much I love Deacon just being near me. He doesn't have to say a word.

"That's the secret, huh? Snacks, books, and silence. Well, silence with proximity," he responds.

"Exactly. I mean, if they are anything like me, is that what your girlfriends have wanted?" I ask, broaching the subject lightly.

"I"m not sure I've ever met anyone quite like you, Spitfire, so who knows? I spent most of my time at home at a human school; it didn't seem fair to lead them on when I knew they could never really understand me, you know?"

My heart clenches at his admission, and for a moment, I see the pain in his vulnerability. He was alone.

"I'm sorry. That sounds incredibly isolating and lonely. What about since you've been here? We have a few dozen age-appropriate female shifters in the pack. Any of them catch your eye?" I ask, thinking through who might be a good fit for him.

Someone smart but not in a stuck-up way. Someone kind. He would need them to have his moral fortitude. He needs someone who will challenge him and let him be himself without pushing. He's funny, so she'd have to have a sense of humor, and she will need to know how to cook the way he eats through baked goods.

As I think through the options, I eliminate most of them. Cheryl is too flaky. Jessica jumps from wolf to wolf. Teressa is beautiful and kind, but there needs to be more going on intellectually.

His lack of a response has me laughing out loud.

"Okay, maybe we don't have anybody, but you'll be an Alpha somewhere. I'm sure there will be a line out the door who will want to be your Luna," I say, confidence filling my tone. "Even if you do lack common sense and taste… No pickles… my word!"

The rest of our walk has us arguing over which foods fall into the ‘nope' category. In addition to pickles, Marcus doesn't like cottage cheese, raisins, or any fish with a face still on it. Me, I can't do Miracle Whip, oysters, or eggnog, like gag me with those textures.

We agree that pineapple should not go on pizza and that the best way to eat fries is with a chocolate shake. Steak should never be ordered well done, and grape jelly is the superior jelly to use in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

As we stop in front of my house, I grab the mail out of the box at the front and turn to ask my final question.

"Ok, final thing. Let's see if you have even a shred of intellect in that head of yours. Crunchy or Creamy?" I ask, knowing I don't need to elaborate for him to know I'm back on peanut butter.

"Crunchy, obviously," he says with confidence.

"I knew it! You're a masochist. Who wants the sharp pieces cutting up their mouth? Absolutely not. Creamy is far and away a better choice. It even spreads easier," I exclaim, raising my volume more than usual.

My eyes catch sight of the electric company's name on an envelope, and my heart sinks. I'm running out of time.

"On this one, I will adamantly disagree. You need the chunky crunch to make the sandwich," He says.

"I guess we will have to do a side-by-side competition. You coming to the diner tomorrow?" I ask, pushing the doubt and fear about the electric bill aside.

"I can't go tomorrow. I've got an extra shift since we leave Friday after school. Am I picking you up here or at school?" he asks, bringing a smile to my face because he hasn't forgotten the trip.

Of course, he hasn't. Marcus is a good friend. He cares about people, and he cares about me.

"Grab me from here. I don't want to bring my suitcase full of books to school," I smile, knowing he has no idea how many books I'm bringing to be signed.

I don't get opportunities like this, so I will bring everything.

"You got it. Night Spitfire."

"Later, Ace." I wave over my shoulder and head inside.

My dad is asleep in his recliner, and the low drone of the television is keeping him asleep. If I turn it off, it will wake him, and he'll be angry, so I leave him where he is.

Dropping the mail on the counter, I reach for the one I know will hurt the most. As I tear the electric bill open, I hold my breath, wondering how much the fees will be, and my eyes bulge out of my head.

What. The. Fuck?

Thank you for paying your bill. This is a receipt of payment for the arrears and the six-month additional payment made to the account. We appreciate you taking care of this in a timely manner and thank you for being a long-standing valued customer.

My eyes scan the amount paid on the top of the bill, and my jaw drops at the $1400 payment that shows it was made to the account two days ago.

This must be an error.

My eyes glance at the clock, noting it"s just after eleven. No one would be there to talk to now.

I rack my brain, figuring out how this could have happened, when a thought hits me.

Deacon.

Marcus must have said something to him. I could see him trying to fix this for me.

But he's already done so much. I don't want to be a charity case. This is too much.

My mind spins as I open the other pieces of mail and realize it"s not just the electric bill but the mortgage, the water, and the gas.

Did my dad do this?

Did Deacon?

How could he know all of the accounts?

Where would Dad get the money?

Part of me wanted to cheer and count my blessings from The Fates. The other, worried it was a huge mistake that would only put us further behind.

All I knew was I had some huge thank yous to make if this was all real.

For a single moment, I let myself believe that this one thing, this one weight, this one responsibility had been lifted, even if just for a few days.

Thank you.