Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,124
especially if you’re going a couple of towns over. They don’t know about wolves. Not like Green Creek.”
He batted my hands away with a scowl. “I know.”
“And don’t flash your eyes.”
“I know.”
“And—”
“Carter.”
I sighed. “Just… if you need me, you call me, okay? No matter what. I’ll come running.”
He squinted at me. “Take a truck. Faster.”
Jessie coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Whatever,” I muttered. “Go on. Get outta here. I’ll be here when you get back.”
He nodded and started to step around me. He stopped before grabbing me by the hand and pulling me into the kitchen. He didn’t let me go as he turned to face me. He looked down between us at the floor. His hair was wet. He must have dunked his head in the sink. “Okay?”
“I’m fine. You don’t—”
He shook his head. “Not that. I’m okay? I can do this?”
“You can do anything you want,” I told him.
“Can’t piss on Gordo’s floor.”
“Well, no. I mean, yeah, you can, but you shouldn’t. But this? Definitely. You can do this. And you asking is a good thing. I’m proud of you, dude.”
“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, but his lips were quirking.
“Hey.”
He looked up at me. “What?”
“Thank you.”
“For?”
I shrugged because I didn’t know. “Everything, I guess.”
And oh, there was his smile. There it was, bright and warm, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to stare directly into the sun. “Thump, thump, thump.”
“Thump, thump, thump,” I agreed. I jerked my head toward the living room. “Go on.”
“Call you if I need you,” he said, sounding determined.
“Yeah. But I don’t think you will. Big bad wolf, but a good human. You’ll be all right.”
I was stunned when he raised our joined hands to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand. And then he was gone, as if he hadn’t just devastated me. As if he hadn’t just rocked me down to my foundation. I stood there, the morning sunlight pouring in from the window above the sink, motes of dust swirling in the air, listening as he followed Chris and Tanner and Rico out the door.
THEY WERE FOLLOWING ME.
They tried to hide, but I was their big brother. I would know the sound of them anywhere.
The air was cold as I walked along an old dirt road. The deciduous trees were bare, the conifers green, their scent sharp. Patches of snow lay in the shadows where the sunlight couldn’t quite reach. The sky was blue, though clouds hung over the horizon.
Kelly and Joe kept their distance. They didn’t speak. I thought about calling them out, letting them know I knew they were there. I didn’t. They’d join me eventually, especially when they figured out where I was going.
It didn’t take long.
In the distance, a covered wooden bridge appeared, rising up over a small creek bed. A thin crust of ice lined the edges of the creek, the water bubbling over the rocks. It was only going to get colder. Soon enough it would freeze over completely.
I stopped a few yards in front of the bridge.
I looked at the plaque fixed to the entrance.
Six words.
May our songs always be heard.
“He would have loved this,” I said quietly. “This little thing.”
Silence.
Then, “You think so?”
Joe. I nodded but didn’t turn around. Gravel crunched under their boots as they walked toward me. I rubbed my hands together to warm them.
Kelly appeared on my right, Joe on my left. They pressed against me. They each took one of my hands, holding them between their own. I was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. Not like when I was on the road, my sleep fractured by nightmares that felt too real.
“When did you know?” Kelly asked. “That we were following you.”
I laughed quietly. “Right away. You’re both loud. Always have been.”
“I told you,” Joe mumbled.
“I’m a Beta,” Kelly retorted. “You’re an Alpha. That’s all on you.”
“Oh, bullshit. You’re older than me, you should have—”
I said, “He would’ve loved it, but not necessarily about it being for him,” and they fell quiet. I looked at the words carved into the metal. “It’s like the little wolf on the sign for Green Creek. It’s a secret.”
“He did like his secrets,” Kelly said, and I winced at the bitterness in his voice. I couldn’t blame him. I’d thought the same thing time and time again. “Gavin. Ox. Gordo and his tattoos. Richard Collins. It makes you wonder what else he knew and didn’t tell us.”