my calendar. Twelve years old. You excited?”
“Not really. It’s another year closer to sixteen, though, when I get to learn to drive.”
Priorities. Carey had the right priorities.
“Well, what do you want this year? Twelve is important, too, you know.”
“Not really!” With a huff, she sagged into the seat. “I don’t know what I want. Dad’s been asking too, and I just don’t know what to tell him. What did you want for your birthday?”
“I…” I realized that I couldn’t remember. Damn dead spot in my memory. Part of me wondered if it was from the car accident. Hasan didn’t know of anyone else who had lost so much of their memory during the Change. It was common for werecats to lose bits and pieces, but I lost nearly six years of my childhood. “I don’t remember, actually.”
“Then it can’t be that important.” Carey crossed her arms. “Maybe I’ll ask for a dirt bike like the one you have.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that…”
Carey laughed, but I could tell she was strongly considering it. Amazing. Heath was going to be so mad at me for that if he had a problem with dirt bikes. He’d bought a large piece of property between Tyler and Jacksonville, so maybe he would be fine with it, but I knew his property was so he and Landon could shift during the full moon, not for Carey to run around and get bitten by snakes or break her arm on a dirt bike.
I pulled in front of the bar, closed on Mondays like normal, and unlocked the door for her to follow me in, climbing the back stairs together to my small apartment. I pointed to the table, a silent order for her to park her butt in a chair while I got stuff out for cookies. It was ritual now. Monday was the day she came over, asked me girl questions, or just wanted to talk to an adult who wasn’t her father or brother. We cooked, baked, played video games, anything either of us was interested in. Once, I took her walking on some of the trails behind the bar, keeping her away from my house.
“Any cute guys at school? Or girls?” I asked, pulling out everything we needed from the fridge and pantry.
“No. They all know my dad is a werewolf which means they think I might be a werewolf—”
“We’ve already established you go to school with shit kids,” I reminded her. “But not all of them are shitty. Are there any you like at all?”
She shrugged. “Dad says I need to hang out with other kids my age, but…I’ve always hung out with werewolves and werewolf families. Normal kids are…boring. And scared of me. And my dad.”
“Yeah, I know.” I tried to give her a sympathetic look as I put two bowls down on the table. “Is anyone teasing you?”
“You can’t tell Dad,” she said pointedly.
“I don’t tell your dad anything.”
“Then, yeah, there are a couple of boys who tease me. Never enough to tell the teacher. A few of the girls move away from me when I try to sit with them. It’s not a big deal. My old school was like this too, and it’s okay. I still see my tutors on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and those kids aren’t as smart as me.”
“If it becomes more than teasing, you’ll tell me or your dad,” I ordered.
“I know,” she huffed. “You know, he was annoyed with you yesterday.”
“You know, I think I got that impression,” I said, thinking back. “What’s his problem?”
“You don’t tell him anything. Dad is used to people telling him everything, and he doesn’t like that you don’t. He knows it’s because you’re a werecat, but he’s a control freak. He likes to know everything, and now he doesn’t. He says you keep secrets.”
“I do. More from him than you, actually.” I sat down and cracked open the cake mix that was the base of the cookies. It was a recipe I had found online when I was human and loved so much, I tried it with every cake mix I could find. I didn’t bake often, but this was my go-to baking project. “He didn’t like how you didn’t make him pay for me at the bowling alley.”
“Oh, because I know Alphas pay for their wolves when they do things together. It’s an Alpha’s way of saying he’ll take care of you. But you don’t want anyone to take care of you, and…I know if he acts