Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,143

sons. Three of them. Good boys, he said. Good, good boys. I asked him to show me. To show me wolves. He did. He shifted. White wolf. Big white wolf. He pressed his nose against me. I said oh. It was… a feeling. I don’t know. Bright. Like sun. Warm. I remembered that. After he left. After I was bitten. After I turned. I tried to hold on to it. Like anchor. Like tether. Too hard. Lost. But then I come here and thump, thump, thump.” He pressed his hand flat against my chest, right above my heart. “Real. It was real. Didn’t know what to do. Tried to drag you away. Almost bit Kelly because he tried to stop me. Didn’t, though. But you. You were like Thomas. Big man. Biggest man. But you didn’t smell like him.”

I felt like I was dreaming. “What—what did I smell like?”

His eyes glowed violet in the dark. “It’s… hard. To put into words. When you go outside and it’s cold. You take a deep breath. It stings. It hurts, but not like bad. Lungs fill. It burns. Good burn. It’s clean. It’s wild. That’s you. You fill my lungs and you burn me on the inside.” He closed his eyes. “Don’t hate Gordo. Don’t hate Thomas. Don’t hate anyone. I did for a long time. But hate is hard to hold on to. You have to want it. I don’t want it.”

“Gavin.”

“Shh,” he said. “Sleeping.”

And then he did.

Just like that.

I stayed awake for a long time after, watching the light from the moon move across the wall.

snow

Christmas was quiet. Not subdued, but close. We knew what was hanging over us, knew there were others fighting in our name in the cold of a Minnesota winter. Gavin was already downstairs by the time I awoke. My bedroom door was open, and I could hear him talking with Jessie and my mother in the kitchen.

I tried not to think about where I was a year ago, but I couldn’t escape it. Last Christmas I’d slept in my truck in a field in the middle of nowhere. I’d only been on the road for a couple of weeks, and everything inside me had been screaming that I’d made a mistake, that I needed to turn around and go home.

Don’t. Touch. Him.

I’d continued on along the secret highways.

I looked over at the space where Gavin had been. There was a short black hair on the pillow.

I got out of bed and went downstairs, following the Christmas music playing on the radio. Judy Garland was singing a cover of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” I always thought it was the saddest song.

I stopped in the entryway to the kitchen.

Bambi sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Jessie was next to her, cooing over Joshua, who rested in Dominique’s arms.

But it all fell away when I saw my mother dancing with Gavin.

He was still in his sleep shorts. He wore a shirt that was too big for him. He had on pink socks, one sliding all the way down to his ankle, the other halfway up his calf. My mother was in a robe, her hair pulled back, her face makeup-free. They had to know I was there, but they didn’t look my way.

“There,” my mother said. “That’s it. Side to side. Shuffle. You don’t need to lift your feet. Listen to the music. Feel the beat. Slow. Slow.” His hands were on her hips, hers on his shoulders. She laughed. “There you go. That’s it. You’re a natural.”

You love him, Joe whispered in my head.

He swayed with my mother as Judy sang that someday we’d all be together, if the fates allowed.

Until then, we’d have to muddle through.

Somehow.

The song ended.

My mother, my ridiculous and wonderful mother, curtsied in front of him.

Gavin, not to be outdone, bowed awkwardly.

Jessie and Bambi clapped.

Dominique laughed.

Joshua held up his tiny little hand.

And Gavin smiled. It was blinding.

WE WERE HAPPY.

We weren’t fooling ourselves. We knew what was to come.

But we allowed ourselves to have this moment, this one day where we could pretend all was well and we were just like every other family celebrating the holiday.

We stayed in our pajamas for most of the day.

We ate until we could eat no more. And then we did anyway.

We told stories. So many stories.

There were tears, but they were happy. They came from a good place.

Joe and Ox stayed close together. Mark and Gordo did too. They knew