45. Marcus

The last week has been nonstop, and as I jump into Luca's white Ford Bronco, I finally feel a bit lighter. It took some serious sweet talking to several secretaries in town, but I was able to make sure that Grace's bills were covered, at least for the next month or two.

The hardest part was convincing my dad to let me have some of the money they'd put away for my college. My argument that I didn't need a degree to run a pack fell on deaf ears as he tried to explain the concept of a backup plan.

By the end of the conversation, he told me he trusted my intuition and released ten thousand dollars into my checking account for me to use. After that, it was a long conversation with Connie, who now thinks I'm in love with Grace Davidson, and who, by her own admission, "never liked that Deacon Marlo with such a sweet girl."

I may have left out the fact that he was my best friend and that I was doing it for her as her friend and nothing more, but she was able to tell me what they owed monthly on the mortgage, which her bank held the title to, and which companies held the other utilities so I could contact them about payment. I paid her for the last two months of the mortgage and paid three months forward.

Most companies could care less who was paying them so long as the money came in, so both the electric company and the water company told me the balance and let me pay approximately six months" worth of each to relieve some of the stress.

Only the gas company made it difficult. They wouldn't reveal anything about the balances. The man on the phone didn't care why I was doing it, "That"s personal information to our clients." He was a stickler, so I put a thousand dollars in the account and hoped it covered enough of the bill.

By the end of it, I had spent eight thousand dollars, and I felt incredible. Knowing I was taking stress away from Grace's already overwhelmed plate made me happy. She was too kind ever to take anything from anyone, and I hoped she would see it for what it was—an anonymous gift. At least, I hoped so; that"s what I told the companies to reply if she called them, and all noted an ‘anonymous donor' as the name on the payments.

Something about being able to take care of her made me feel lighter. Knowing we would head off on this trip with her not having to pretend she wasn't worried about that part of her life made me smile.

When I pulled up to her house, she was outside, packed and reading her book while waiting. I loved how utterly immersed she would get in a book. When we were at the library, it happened a lot. Nothing else existed, and she just lived in that world for a while.

"You planning on reading all day? Or are we going on a road trip?" I ask when she doesn't make any moves to stop.

"I need a second. Geez, hold your horses, Ace." She rolls her eyes at me and returns to the page she was reading.

What was it she said the other day? Be there, but don't interrupt the reading time.

How long was this supposed to take?

I didn't have to wonder long because she sighs, closes both the book and her eyes simultaneously, and holds the book to her chest for a moment.

In that moment, I could see all the stress she usually keeps in her shoulders and jaw completely gone as she returns from her fictional world.

She looks happy.

I jump out of the driver"s seat, head to the back to open the trunk for her luggage, and lean against the bumper until she finishes.

"Sometimes I wonder why books aren't more like real life. Who wouldn't want to find a trap door to another realm where they can battle dragons or giants to become royalty?" she asks, her voice airy, almost dreamlike.

"Maybe in the books you read, but in the historical fiction and dystopian science fiction I spend my time consuming, everyone would be dead from plague, or zombies, or aliens," I laugh out as I grab her bag and tuck it next to mine.

She jumps into the passenger seat and buckles in before grabbing the map from the center console and opening it to find our route.

"Looks like we can take the I-80W to the I-5S," she says, sliding her finger along the route. "Any idea how long it"s supposed to take?" she asks, not lifting her eyes from the map.

"Luca said about eight hours. Longer if we make stops," I shrug, buckling myself back in and dropping into gear. "Do you need anything else before we go?" I ask, idling in case she forgot anything.

"Nope, all set. Let's hit the road, Jack!"

Turning up the radio, windows down to allow for the breeze, we head off on our adventure.

Two hours later, we are pulling to a stop at a gas station just inside Sacramento. Luca was adamant that we stop here since the next leg didn't have much in the way of gas or food for a while.

Over the drive, I realized that Grace and I had similar music tastes. She loves Lionel Richie and the Police, but she can also belt out Journey and rock along with Def Leppard. She can't carry a tune in a bucket, but it may be the most carefree I've seen her.

"I'm going to run in to pay. Do you want anything?" I ask as I hop out of my seat.

"I'm good, thanks. I'm going to see if they have a bathroom I can use," she replies as she gets herself out.

We walk to the convenience store door together, and I pull it open, allowing her to enter before me. An older man with weathered skin sits behind the register in dusty jeans and a fraying ballcap, reading a section of the paper. He doesn't so much as look up when we walk in, and I have to speak to get his attention.

"Hi there, can I get gas on pump 2, please, and do you have bathrooms?" I ask so Grace doesn't have to.

"Restrooms are around back," he says before taking his time to walk out with me to the pump. Grace excuses herself and heads in the direction he indicated. As soon as he passes me, I smell it.

He's a shifter but not a wolf.

The moment he comes to the same conclusion, he straightens his back, stepping a stride farther away.

"Not from around here, are you, pup?" he asks, keeping enough distance between us while still moving to pump the gas.

"Just passing through," I say, hoping to avoid complications.

"You get permission from the council to be ‘passing through'?" he asks, making eye contact with me.

"Yes, sir, we did. I"m not looking for any trouble, honestly," I say as he finishes with the gas.

He heads back into the store, and I follow, pulling out my wallet so I can pay him. On my way back to the register, I see Grace's favorite candy, so I grab two boxes of the Runts and two of the Nerds, my favorite.

"It"s $7.61 for the gas," he says, and I lay the four candies down.

"These as well, please," I say, handing him a ten-dollar bill.

Grace's red hair catches my attention as she heads back to the Bronco, and the man makes my change.

"Be careful heading through Stockton. There's new leadership down there trying to make a bigger name. They've infiltrated the PD and are running extra taxation on the roads," he says, hinting at a situation that would not be good for us.

Gonna need a new path.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the information," I say, grabbing the bag of candy and heading to the car.

So much for an easy trip.

I shove the bag through Grace's open window, startling her from her book as it falls to the floor.

"Hold these a minute. I'm going to run to the bathroom. We will need a new route around Stockton," I say before leaving her.

I ensure I'm fast emptying my bladder, and we"re back on the road a minute later.

"I found a way around, but it will add time to our trip," she says.

"That's fine. I'd rather be safe than sorry. The guy in there warned us about new leadership in Stockton. I've been in every council meeting for weeks. No one there is aware of any leadership changes, so this is new," I say, concern evident in my voice.

"What if it"s a trap?" she asks, her voice small.

"What would he gain? We will be almost an hour away by then,"

"I don't know. My dad always told us not to trust a fox shifter. They live up to their name."

Fox. I'll be damned. I would have guessed some kind of bobcat based on his odd smell.

"What do you think, Spitfire? My gut tells me he was just looking out for us, but I've never met a fox shifter, so I have nothing to go off there," I say, giving her the choice of how we proceed.

"I trust your gut," she says, looking at me, her confidence written there.

"Then we will take the alternate route and see the sights on the local roads," I say before digging into the bag at her feet, tossing a box of Runts in her lap, and keeping a box of Nerds for myself.

Her smile lights up her eyes, and she turns them my way, delighted but skeptical.

"I believe you were the one who said, and I quote, ‘snacks' as the number one way to keep a woman happy."

"You're right. I did. I just can't believe you remembered they were my favorite," she adds.

"It"s incredibly difficult to forget a twenty-minute soapbox speech about how much better Runts were than Skittles because ‘you can't even tell what flavor Skittles are,'" I say, putting on a Southern accent to mock her tone.

Her jaw drops.

"Marcus William Stone, I do not sound like that!" she shouts, slapping my arm.

"You sound exactly like that, Grace Ann Davidson!" I say, mocking her again.

The next six hours fly by without dragging at all. If it weren't for the setting sun about halfway, I would have believed we had only just begun. We make it around Stockton without incident and roll into Los Angeles just before ten pm.

The hotel Deacon booked for Grace is just a few blocks from the bookstore where the signing will be tomorrow, and we get into the room with all of our stuff.

I'm thankful they had availability so they could give us a room with two beds rather than just a queen, which they had us set for initially. I like Grace just fine, but I respect Deacon too much to try and cross that line, which only means I would have been on the floor.

Grateful to have a bed.

While Grace showers, I head to grab our dinner. I"m excited to finish today so I can take on tomorrow with Grace.

Day one of the birthday trip is a success.