calling an author "unprofessional" bc he hates how his precious work that he spent years on being butchered is beyond madness. the thoughts, the ideas, the hard work, the inspiration, the sleepless nights, the creativity, the emotions and feelings he has put into his work being thrown out the window not once but TWICE must be heart breaking to him. he knows he doesn't have much time left on this earth and he has the RIGHT to be upset and devastated at how his legacy is being dragged through the mud and "fixed" by a bunch of pretentious narcissists that think they could do a better job than him, bc if they're doing this while he is alive imagine what they would do when he isn't.
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Here's mine! Tagging: @likelyscam @greiiliss @lex-the-lesbiann @apricior @twacn @dip-the-stick and literally anyone else who wants to join, the more the merrier!
Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.
Notes--Johnny is showing his true colors so the story is definitely getting a little darker.
You woke up hungover and embarrassed.Â
You were old enough to know better and a mother for Christâs sakeâby all means too old to be making idiotic decisions that could shake the life you had spent over half a decade building. You could hardly remember what had led up to Johnny doingâŠthe thing that he did, but you were sure you didnât exactly put up a fight.
Tommy walked Emma back to your house shortly after seven, dressed for work. He pulled the makings of breakfast from the fridge, grumbling some nonsense about two full-grown wolf-soldiers eating him out of house and home. You were trying very hard not to do your walk of shame, refusing to look at the chair or the leftover pizza in the fridge. Emma, of course, was none the wiser, curling up in your lap to nuzzle at your face.Â
âDid you have fun?â You asked, inspecting her for signs staying up too late.Â
Emma nodded, beginning a long play-by-play of the previous nightâs events, including a humorous addition of her forcing Simon to teach her card games. âWe had ice cream after dinner,â she said, whispering it so Tommy wouldnât hear. âUncle Tom told me not to tell you.âÂ
Emma couldnât keep a secret to save her life. You laughed and tickled her sensitive feet.
You couldnât believe you had been so weak to let Johnny back in again. You couldnât trust him, no matter what he said about his reasons for disappearing, and adding sex to the equation could only make things even worse.
âJohnny was out late last night,â Tommy said casually, cracking an egg into a pan. âHe left after Emma went to bed.â
You couldnât help but glance at the chair, trying very hard not to remember Johnnyâs voice, wrecked and commanding, or his hands, or his tongue-
âI had an early night,â you said. âCharlie called for a raincheck.â
âMm,â Tom said. âScrambled?â
You nodded, not missing Emmaâs curious look. She really was too smart for her own good.Â
The weekend passed uneventfullyâyou avoided Johnny by packing up Emma and spending a day in the city, finishing up your Christmas shopping in the shiny shops and taking Emma ice skating in the square. He called you once, but you quickly put Emma on the phone, your stomach aching just at the thought of talking to him.
Emma picked out a pair of red and white striped socks and a box of legos as a gift for her father. She was pleased with her choices, and you tried your very best to smile when she displayed them to you.
Johnny wasnât even going to be around for Christmas, and that was something you needed to discuss with him. Your little girl couldnât survive off of no letters or callsâafter all, it nearly killed you.Â
Monday comes with the first real snowfall of the year. You dressed in warm layers, sweaters and soft scarves, Emmaâs face pink under the winter jacket you had strapped her in.Â
Charlie was sitting by your desk at work, two cups of coffee in hand and your favorite pastry in front of your chair. He smiled as you unwound the scarf from your neck, looking appropriately guilty and embarrassed.
âI wanted to apologize,â he said, passing you the coffee. âIâŠit was a dick move. I had a few already and confused the daysâI er, I tried to call you in the morning when I had come to my senses but you didnât answer.â
Honestly, you had forgotten about it completely. You raised a brow at the man. âI took Emma to the city for Christmas shopping. We were busy.â
Charlie nodded. âYeah, of course, itâs the holidays. I just wanted you to know that Iâm sorry, I feel like Iâve fucked things up.â
You searched around for anger, or even mild irritation, but it was gone, used up entirely by Johnny. âItâs alright, Charlie, thanks for the coffee.â
Charlie smiled again, relieved. You took a seat at your desk and listened to him chatter about drama with Chris and Jan at the copying machine.Â
You watched his hands. They were good handsâman hands, if you will, pale hair on his knuckles and a silver ring on his thumb. Johnnyâs hands were wide and thick with dark hair, his nail beds always worn raw from the shift from stubby human nails to sharp claws.Â
Why were you comparing? What was wrong with you?
Why couldnât you just let sleeping dogs lie?
Charlie claimed your attention once more, following you to the carts of books that needed shelves. âI was wonderingâŠI know Iâve acted like a right bastard, but I was thinking I could make it up to you. How does dinner tomorrow sound? Iâll make the food and supply the wine, you just bring yourself.â
You wanted to say no. That meant that you would have to see if Julienne would keep Emma for a few more hours, not to mention your attraction to Charlie had taken a nose-dive when he ditched you the first time.
If only your body held all men accountableâyour issue with Johnny would be solved overnight.
That was the thing that made you consider it. Johnny. He was your kryptonite, your achilles heel, and you needed to burn his touch off your skin.
âAlright,â you said. âIf I can get a sitter for the bear.â
âDeal,â Charlie said, grinning. He kissed your cheek gently, mouth warm and chapped.
Johnny texted the next morning, asking if he could take you and Emma out to lunch on your break. He offered to drop her off at Julieneâs house as well, saving you the walk.
You needed to rip the bandaid off. He wasnât going to stay away forever, and it didnât matter he had eaten you out while you were very sad and very drunk, you couldnât keep him away from Emma.Â
âEm, do you want to see Johnny today?â You asked, hoping against hope she would shake her head.
Instead, your darling girl perked up, ears twitching as she nodded eagerly. The full moon was coming quickly, so her behavior wasâŠoff, her eyes growing brighter by the day.
Johnny used to refuse to be around you on the week of the full moon. He disappeared from your house and would show back up a few days later, looking exhausted and on edge, twitching if you tried to touch him.
You sighed.Â
Where should we meet you?Â
Johnnyâs reply was lightning quick. You still like Angeloâs?
Angeloâs was a sandwich shop you used to frequent with Johnny, you hadnât been in ages. Thatâs fine.
Johnny texted back something enthusiastic and barely legible.
Julienne had agreed to watch Emma for a couple more hours without irritation, saying she could use the money for a fancy new garden gadget she had been eyeing. You planned on grabbing it for her for Christmas, a token of your appreciation for her help with Emma.
You were going to give Charlie one last chance, if this dinner didnât pan out you would find some other patsy to take you out every other weekend.Â
Johnny was going to be gone soon, after all, and Emma is unpredictable with these things. She could take it as easily as she took the death of her grandfather, or it could beâŠcatastrophic.Â
You eyed your phone, forcing yourself to do the hard thing that neither of you wanted to face.Â
I was hoping you would talk to Emma about you leaving soon.
There. You said it. You tossed your phone on the bed and finished getting dressed, herding Emma to school before you forced yourself to look at his response.
Of course, hen, weâll talk about it.Â
Work went by quickly in your haze of anxiety. What would he say to Emma?
What would he say to you?
You didnât expect him to be waiting at Emmaâs school. He was leaning against his truck, all twinkly blue eyes and a sharp smile that reminded you that he left for you. Because he couldnât control himself.Â
Johnny was trying to be good. You see it now, you remembered the way he used to follow you home after school, walking close behind you like he thought someone was going to steal you away. He wouldnât share food with anyone, not even Tom, but if you asked he would always tear whatever it was in half and put it on your plate.Â
Johnny and Tom had been playing video games in the living room when you left for your first date. You were sixteen and he had just hit twenty one, and he had looked at poor Dan Hilton like he wanted to rip out his guts and serve them up with eggs.
You had chalked it up to brotherly feelings, or the simple fact that Johnny has never liked to share.Â
To see it for what it was feltâŠodd. You had heard about wolves claiming human spouses, putting a bite on their throat like a wedding band and never, ever letting go.
âHey,â you said tiredly.Â
Johnny straightenedâhe wanted a hug, you could see it in the way his hands twitched. âI figured I would give the two of ye a ride, yeah? Itâs fuckinâ freezinâ today.â
âAlright,â you said, glancing at your phone. The bell should be ringing any minute, and Johnnyâs attention would be on Emma and not you. His attention was dangerous, it made you stupid and reckless.
âI heard youâve got a hot date tonight,â Johnny said, going straight for the jugular. Â
You stiffened. âThatâs none of your business.â
âAch, lass, you wound me.â
âJohnny, the other nightâŠit was a mistake. I was drunk and lonely and you were there.â
You didnât think it was possible to hurt Johnny, but you did. It flashed across his eyes, his jaw tightening into a straight line.Â
You felt your stomach twistâgod you were handling this all wrong-
He took a step, tilting your chin up with the pad of his rough finger. He wanted you to look at him, to watch his pupils swallow up the bright blue of his eyes. âIâm not a good man, kitty. Hell, Iâm not even a man, not really. I know Iâve hurt you, and Iâll repent every fuckinâ day for it, but if you let him touch you, Iâll gut him like a goddamn fish.â
âHow dare you-â you began, but Johnny gripped your chin then, pressing the tips of his claws into your skin lightly.
âYou want me,â Johnny said, his gaze hazy and wild as it dropped to your mouth. âEven now. I should bite you right here, make it real fucking simple for you.â
There it wasâthe wolf that he had hidden from you for so long, the killer wearing the skin of your brotherâs best friend. You forced yourself to hold his stare, feeling the sharp prick of his claws on the delicate skin of your throat.Â
âI want a proper husband, John,â you said softly. âI want a real father for my child, someone who will be there for the birthdays and graduations and holidays. I want someone to sleep beside me every night, someone that doesnât make me do this alone.â
You knew you were driving a knife right between his ribsâyou knew how badly this would hurt him. Johnny had spent his childhood not being right for his mother, not being human enough, gentle enough.Â
His eyes were so bright and so lost.Â
âIâve been alone for six years, John. I donât ever want Emma to know what that feels like.â
Johnny was silent, his breath coming fast and rough. âIâll never let another man have you,â he rasped. âYouâre mine. Both of you.âÂ
He pressed closer, nuzzling your jaw with a low growl. âIâll be a good mate, hen, I suppose itâs only right that I prove myself before we have our next pup.â
âNo!â You hissed, pushing him away. âEnough, Johnny. Youâll be gone soon and Iâll have to deal with the fallout as per fucking usual.â
Your words werenât workingâthey were working him up instead, like Emma when she watched the neighborâs squirrels chase each other in the trees. His heart thudded like a drum under your palm.Â
âYouâre making a scene, kitty,â he said slyly, tilting his head like he wanted nothing more than to give chase. âNow hush, weâll talk about this later. Emma shouldnât see Mum and Dad argue.â
You opened your mouth to argue, so furious you could hardly think. Â
âMum?â Emma sang, bouncing out of the school. âOh, Johnny!â
She ran to him, the little traitor. Johnny smiled, his sharp edges softening as he swung her up into his arms. âAch, my girlâs getting heavy,â he teased, nuzzling her face. She mimicked his movements, her smile bright and happyâthey were scenting each other.Â
You looked away. âCâmon you two,â you said, forcing your tone to lighten. âI only have an hour for lunch.â
You barely touch your food, your stomach twisting and turning in furious knots. A sandwich, your old favorite, sits in front of you, courtesy of Johnny.
The audacity of men. You were the one who had spent countless nights bouncing up and down the hallway with Emma in your arms, exhausted and sore, your breasts swollen and aching from her sharp teethâyet, Johnny was quickly a new favorite. They were the same, after all, the same species, the same aggressive, needy temperament.
Johnny wiped a bit of mustard from Emmaâs cheek, humming at her irritated whine. She was close to her shift, and her skin was sensitive. âDinna fash, baby, itâs the moon,â he crooned, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. âI woke up this morning wâmy skin crawling.â
That was another bump in the road. Emmaâs shifts had gotten harder and harder over the years, more anger, more pain, and the internet had barely any information about early childhood shifts. Jack hadnât been concerned, saying Johnny had the same issues at that ageâthe only difference was that Johnny was a feral little thing that used to sneak out during the full moon and pick off the strays of London. Emma couldnât bring herself to squash an ant, much less devour a cat or dogâbut then Johnny hadnât had much human influence, at least, not until you and Tommy.Â
âEmma, tell your Ma that if she doesnât eat, weâll have to feed her ourselves,â Johnny said. He was smiling, but his eyes were sharp.Â
Emma sniffed at your sandwich. âYou didnât have breakfast either, Mum,â she said accusingly. âYou always tell me food is good for your brain.â
You cocked an eyebrow at her. âMaybe Iâm not hungry.â
âEat, kitty,â Johnny said, his tone rougher as if you were one of his soldiers. âYou look dead on yer feet.â
You took a bite, just to appease them. You could still feel the small, stinging cuts his claws had scraped on your jaw.Â
exit, no entry wound
joe bear graves x reader; part 1 (3.8k)
-
Local time at destination: 0500 hours.
And then the world rushes back to him like the culmination of a terrible dream.
Bear wakes up in another rosebush outside the front steps of the local library worse for wear. Blinking out of sleep-crusted eyes, shapes diverging in blurry unfocus before slipping back into material objects. A bench. A door. The thorny stems of roses already on their way out, already depetalling, the ground below covered in a thin layer of them. One petal even sticking to his cheek when he pulls himself off the ground, wincing at the branches that crunch around him, that tug against his skin and clothes.
His clothes smell of cheap liquor. Gin. Bourbon. It hurts to open his eyes, to sit up.Â
âMorning, sunshine,â someone says. He remembers hearing it in his dream too.Â
He looks to the source of his awakening, blanching when he notices the man staring at him.
Rip sits on the other side of the bushes on his haunches, looking deeply unimpressed. Hair slicked back for a change. âThis what you get up to when Iâm gone?â
Bear doesnât respond. He struggles to his feet instead, hangover only just creeping in. Still drunk, to an extent. His knees threaten to buckle under him, forcing him to lay a hand flat on the wall to keep himself upright. One foot in front of the other. The walk home feels endless in the hour before dawn, hardly any light to guide him.Â
âPretty pathetic shit, Bear,â the man says, trailing along behind him. Not quite mockingly, but bordering on it. âGetting piss drunk and passing out in a bush? Really? Câmon, man. You gotta be fuckinâ kidding me.â
Thereâs no sense in responding, Bear knows that now. No sense in even turning around to look. One foot in front of the other. Stumbling home alone under the cloak of night, dawn just around the corner; terrified that one day heâll have to see itâthe sun coming over the mountains, over the horizon.Â
Itâs been less than a year. He hasnât yet made his amends with God. Forgiveness sits outside of him. Not quite the right time to let it in. Maybe that time passed a long time ago, a small aperture that shuttered closed at the approach of his eyes. He missed it sometime between killing a boy and losing his mind.
A man cannot hold himself up on the scaffolding of the world alone. There has to be something beneath him. There is no sense in repeating the horrors of the world back to him; heâs already lived them. Heâs got something of a Midas touch for death.Â
The months have been long since the divorce was finalised, since Lena left for good, since Buckley died, since Ripâsince it all went down. If he thinks about it for too long, it seems like a nightmare that he woke up from still mad about; a nightmare he had no choice but to drink himself into a stupor over to escape. Thatâs the reality of the world.Â
âYou know, Bear, youâre not the one thatâs fuckinâ dead,â Rip spits as he follows behind, matching Bearâs stumbling gait stride for stride. âSo you can stop acting like it.â
Thereâs a truth in Ripâs words and it leaves him feeling nauseous. Thereâs also a kink in his neck and a headache threatening to split his forehead open. In the belly of him, he has a truth that says that the firmament of heaven is beyond his reach. When he looks up and the sky is void of coruscating light, the meagre stars like an exit with no entry wound, it doesnât surprise him. Of course there wouldnât be anything there.
On a good day, his heart feels like itâs weathered a siege.Â
âSo she left you! Itâs time to fuckinâ move on. Go to a barâI mean, you already are, so step one doneâand pick someone up. Go on Christian Mingle or something. You keep living your life like this and youâre going to wind up killing yourself. And then the fuck good thatâll do?â
It takes everything in him to not turn around and do something rash. Only the nausea keeps him from making any sudden movements. Even if he were to turn around and do something, his knees would probably buckle under him. Probably throw up the contents of his stomach. Not much in there either. It rumbles when he thinks that, clenching at the thought of food. Then it twists, the nausea returning.Â
One foot in front of the other. The walk home takes twice as long, his whole body aching.
âHeard you almost quit. Wouldnât be the worst idea you ever had. Let Buddha take overâheâs earned it. Get yourself a nice piece of land in fuckinââŠMontana or something. Couple cows, maybe some chickenâyou could get a dog, Christ. You look like a guy whoâd have a dog. Why donât you have a dog, actually? You wouldâve told me if you didnât like dogs, so itâs not that.â
His forehead is greasy when he touches it to rub his head. Body secreting poison in his sleep. Oily. The corners of his lips crack when he yawns. Itâs not like heâs never thought about a dog, about having something to care for, another living thing in his house.Â
Butâ
(âBear? âŠI donât think we should have a child.â)
What he wants often falls to the wayside, slides off him like a glancing blow.Â
Her old, familiar shape appears at the sudden loss of a dream: one where Lenaâs gaze lingers on him long enough to burn; but then it is the sun.
Bear watches dawn break. Sunday morning. In a different life, he wouldâve squinted into the light of a new day and closed his eyes against it, curling into the slighter body tucked into his chest for another hour of rest. Felt the rise and fall of her chest. Woken up to a hot mouth on his cock or fingers curling in his chest hair, petal lips seeking him out. Church after that, showering off the remnants of their morning, solemn in their pews with their chests still holding the laughter of an hour previous. Light as air, as a feather.Â
He wonât go to church today; hasnât in months. Not with the guilt of missing it the week before trailing after him, each missed week compounding month after month. The cracks in his faith webbing. Splintering out like stepping on the lake when it freezes over in the winter, crunching under his boot until he holds his place. Conscious that it could break under his feet.
âI grew up with a dog,â Bear finally responds, voice hoarse. First thing heâs said since last call at the bar.Â
âYeah. Figures. What kind?â
âBlack lab. We called her Daisy.â
Itâs another lifetime ago. Still living in his parentâs house, Daisy curled by his dadâs feet, her favourite spot to sleep. Television playing at a low volume, mom at the kitchen table doing her crossword, ink bleeding into the side of her hand. Itâs been a long time since Bear buried all of them. Heâs buried countless people since.Â
âWhatâcanât get another? One and done? Thatâs how everything works for you?â
Teeth raze across his skin again. Trust Rip to always cut to the quick. Finally back in his neighbourhood at least, the street empty apart from the cars parked in their driveways or along the sidewalk. Bearâs stomach rumbles something fierce now, entreating him to eat. Worse than hunger is how heâd kill for a glass of water though. Anything to settle his head.
âHavenât wanted a dog,â Bear grumbles, then clears his throat.
âYeah, you have,â Rip scoffs. Bear hears him kick a rock, sending it skidding across the asphalt.Â
âFuck off.â
Heart silicified in his chest, composed of fossilised shells and rocks and bones. It feels heavy in his chest.Â
He turns down the street leading to his house.Â
âGotta let someone else in, Bear. Girl, dogâwhatever. You canât keep this up forever or itâll kill you.â
When he turns around at the door, fishing in his pocket for his keys, the sidewalk beyond his house is empty.Â
(So a man lies down and rises not again; till the heavens are no more he will not awake or be roused out of his sleep.)
Every Friday like clockwork, Bear stops at the diner down the street for a coffee and a slice of cherry pie before heading to the bar.Â
Today is like any other. He leaves the house with only his keys and wallet and walks the long twenty minutes to the diner. Every time he fights the urge to drive, but there has to be something holding him in place. A reason not to throw it all away.Â
Itâs never completely empty when he shows up, but itâs never full either. His seat at the back of the room is open as usual, like they put up a sign before he comes ambling down the street that says Reserved for Joe Graves and then pluck it away before he opens the door. Itâd be nice if that were the case. Nice to have something just for him for a change. The thought comes with its accompanying pang of shame. Desire is a dangerous thing; anything heâs ever wanted has come at him with sharpened teeth, clamping down on his leg and ripping through the flesh. Bear trap for old Bear.Â
He slides into the booth and waits for someone to notice him. Never bothers to flag someone downâif itâs ten minutes or even half an hour before heâs served, thatâs fine by him.Â
âHiya,â a clear voice says to his right, pulling him away from staring through the blinds out the window. âCan I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?â
The face Bear turns to meet is pleasant, smiling. Wide and untroubled. Itâs not a face he recognizes though, despite months coming to this diner and becoming familiar with the staff. If he had to guess, heâd bet she only started a few days ago, maybe a week at most. She still has the sparkle of someone who hasnât had the goodness beaten out of them yet.Â
âCoffee,â he says, his own smile strained. âAnd a slice of pie.â
âSureâwe have key lime, blueberry, appleââ
âCherry,â he interrupts, not letting her build steam. The wick in his chest burns too low for any conversation. The quick flicker of her brow makes the shame in his chest swell again. Forgive me sitting on his lips, unsaid. Iâm sorry, I donât know why I do this.Â
She nods and scurries off to the back, skirt swishing with her movements. Bear notices only because his eyes get stuck there, somewhere between the curves of her hips and the roundness of her ass. When he realizes where heâs let his mind wander, he pulls it back, flattening his lips into a hard line. Any sort of indulgence feels wrong, a taking that shouldnât be taken. He hasnât even begun to pay penance for all the damage heâs wrought.Â
Itâs only on her way back that Bear notices the small bump protruding from under her apron. His mouth goes dry. When she reaches him again, he wordlessly accepts the cup of coffee and her reassurance that the pie will be out in just a minute. For a moment, he can hardly meet her gaze, eyes locked on the gentle curve of her belly, caught off guard in a way he hasnât been in months.Â
The first thought with any clarity is, what is she doing working here? A crummy diner on a Friday night. Down the street from an even sleazier pub. His second thought is to look outside at the poorly lit stretch of road and think that this is no place for a pregnant woman to be alone. He recognizes each car in the parking lot save one, likely hers. Drove herself here with the expectation of driving herself home at the end of the night.
If it had been Lenaâwell, he never wouldâve let it be Lena, but if it had been, Bear canât imagine letting his pregnant wife drive herself home in the middle of the night. Can hardly stomach the thought.Â
Sheâs not Lena though, so he has no right.Â
Sheâs gone before he has time to say anything else, skirt swishing behind her. It catches his eye again. When he tears his gaze away for a second time, he swallows back the metallic taste of self-loathing. It curdles in his mouth. Itâs the sign telling him to stop coveting, stop looking out into the world and wondering what he can take. Itâs his hamartia, his fatal flaw; thinking himself above the reproach of God. Thinking that he can kill, fuck, curse, and stray farther and farther from the light only to find his way back in the dark.Â
The bell above the door rings when someone else comes in and Bear tenses. His shoulders only relax when two older women step in and head to a table.Â
He watches as she picks up a plate from the pass-through window and heads back towards him. When she places it in front of him, he draws a deep breath in, trying to catch more than just the aroma of fresh baked cherries.Â
âHere we goâŠone slice of cherry pie, straight out of the oven.â
âThanks, honey,â Bear rumbles, smile finally meeting his eyes.Â
âNo trouble. The guys in the back said they make it special for you. Joe, right?â
That gets him to levy her with the full weight of his attention. The thought of her asking about him. âI go by Bear.â
âOh. Alright, Bear.â She twists the word around in her mouth and seems to find it satisfying. âI think Iâve heard your name before. You wereâI mean, youâre part of Pastor Adamsâ parish, right?â
He clears his throat, cutting off the triangle point of his pie with the side of his fork. âYes, maâam.â
âMe too,â she confides, voice a low whisper. A secret between strangers. She doesnât glance around though, doesnât bother to draw out the ruse. âOr, I was, anyway. Havenât been to service in awhile. I, umâŠI remember you. From a year or so back. You and yourâumâŠyou and your wife used to always sit up at the front.â
The fork scrapes against the plate. âEx-wife.â
He catches her wince from the corner of his eye. âOh. Sorry. You justââ She doesnât have to say it. The slight dip of her eyes tells him all he has to know, and besides, itâs his own fault for still wearing the ring. Even with the paperwork signed and dated, even with Lena in another state now, starting a new life without him, the thought of taking it off makes him break out in a cold sweat.Â
âItâs notââ Bear starts before giving up. He curls his fingers into a fist on the table.Â
âSorry, I didnât mean toââ
âItâs fine. Not a big deal.â
She fidgets in the silence. Bear canât bring himself to break it or make the atmosphere less oppressive. He tenses under it, the ache in his low back worsening. These days, he always aches. Nerve damage, a disc on the verge of slipping, an old ankle injury that flares up whenever he goes running. A ghost that follows him from haunt to haunt. The ring on his finger is just another old ache.Â
âSo, uhââ he clears his throat, nodding to her belly. âYour first?âÂ
Itâs inappropriate, hardly his place to ask. Incredibly intrusive for someone heâs met for the first time, a stranger just trying to do her job and serve him coffee and pie before he goes off to drink himself half to death again at the dive bar down the road.Â
Still, he asks.Â
Only the faintest wrinkle of her nose betrays any embarrassment. âOh. Yeah. First one.â
âCongratulations.â Itâs sincere. The envy in his gut is old, but itâs a manageable pain.Â
âThanks,â she says, with a small, private smile, hand resting absently under her belly. âIâm excited. Iâm only a couple months along, but, uhâŠitâs been a journey. Just me and baby against the world, you know.â
That stops him in his tracks. Screws up the whole course of his evening because suddenly the sound of the bell over the door jingling doesnât draw his attention away. It stays fixed on the smiling girl to his right that just opened her mouth and said something unacceptable.Â
âWhereâs the dad?â he asks, far too bluntly.Â
She shrugs. âSomewhere. Didnât stick around long enough to tell me where. Itâs fine thoughâIâve got my little peanut. Thatâs all that matters.â
âYou told him and he left?âÂ
The pie sits cooling in front of Bear as a pit in his stomach opens up. Itâs a terrible, empty hole that holds truths like the fallibility of the body and the good shouldering the burdens of the world. Â
He only regrets being so direct when her lip quivers, a little motion that betrays her until she wrests control over her face again. âItâs not his fault. I donât think he wasâwellâŠyou know, it was a surprise.â
âThatâsââ he struggles to find his words, ââthatâs not right.â
Again, she shrugs. âThatâs life.â
Bear feels his eyes go hard. A coldness settles under his skin.Â
In the deep, dark gut of him, only anger lives. He spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but refuses, for reasons unbeknownst to him, to kill him. Heâs given him enough opportunity and enough reason.Â
The answer he circles back to time and again is the same. An eye for an eye. Divine wrath. The litany of his sins could be sung until the end of time and thereâd still be more to sing. Itâs only right that there would be consequences for him.Â
The rage that simmers in his blood now is twofold. It begins with the sharp pang of injustice, of witnessing a punishment meted out to someone innocent. The girl standing by the booth heâs shoved himself into, almost too small for a man of his size, cannot be deserving of the same punishment that heâs brought upon himself. She has never killed. The babe in her belly has never killed. The two of them should never have to meet at the point of two paths converging with the likes of someone like Bear and proceed down the same road together.Â
Then it sinks into a familiar territory. A place at the core of him where righteousness gives way to envy, as it always does. After what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then sending it back leaves him feeling a bit off-kilter. Not quite right.Â
âBear?â Her voice breaks the silence. When he blinks, concerned eyes stare down at him, brows furrowed. âAre you alright?â
âYeah,â he rasps, dragging a hand down his face. Shaking it off. âSorry, Iâgot lost in my head. Sorry.âÂ
âThatâs alright,â she says, again gentle in her voice and smile. âEasy place to get lost in, isnât it?â
He makes a sound in acknowledgment. Drags the silence out. Her mouth twists shy under his scrutiny.Â
âAnyway, I have a few other tables to get to, if you donât mind. Enjoy your pie. Iâll check on you in a bit.â
He eats his slice of pie in silence as she leaves, eyes following her to her next table. Rage still sizzles under his fingertips. It makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.Â
Itâs like a gun punch to think of her all on her own. Itâs not right. For someone like him, well, itâsâdeserved, earned. Inevitable, even. Every step taking him further away from grace, from its light. No one who knows his story would think otherwise.Â
Sheâs a pretty thing though, this new waitress. Too tired, the bags under her eyes testament to that, no matter how well she hides them with makeup. Slightly puffy anyway, maybe from a lack of sleep or too many tears. His stomach aches at the thought. It must have come as a shock, the bottom of her world dropping out from under her when the babyâs father took off. Dragged away from the church not through her own doing, but the fault of another. Not her shame to bear, and yet.Â
He forces the pie down. Bites that taste like nothing,Â
Bear hears the lilt of her voice from two tables over. âRefill on your coffee, hun?âÂ
A supplicant sits in his place as he sips his coffee. The hour slips by into the next and it starts to come together in his mind. Why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. His eyes follow her flit across the diner, the light seeming to bend around her like a halation.Â
When Bear looks across the room at her, he thinks, Lord, do not think I am waiting patiently for your hands. Every part of me trembles with anxiety.
(O Lord, show me I can fall apart together again; but not just yet.)
He stays until the last customer has finally left, waiting for her to come back to his table with an apologetic smile. When she does, Bear hands her his empty plate, watching her take a step back when he scoots out of the booth, rising to his full height. He makes note of the way her eyes round as they follow him up. Taller than her, unsurprisingly. Surprising though, the way her bottom lip droops just the slightest bit.Â
âIs it just you closing up?â he asks, voice a tad too gruff. He clears his throat again, looking around for anyone else.Â
âWell, the chefâs cleaning up in the back, but, uhââ she looks around the diner, conspicuously empty apart from the two of them. âYeah. Just me.â
Bear gestures with his chin towards the door. âIâll wait âtill youâre done, then walk you to your car.â
âOh, Joeââ
âBear,â he corrects.
âBear,â she amends, fingers twisting together now. He relishes the sound of it on her lips. âYou donât have to. Iâm used to it, honestly. I know I just started here, but Iâve done closes before, you know.â
âIâll wait outside.â A statement now. Stubborn. Heâs always been a bit mulish, hard to shake off.Â
He can tell the second she relents, shoulders slumping. âAlright. I shouldnât be too longâŠyou can leave if you get bored though. Wonât blame you.âÂ
He fights the urge to tilt her head up by the chin to make her meet his eyes. Just barely restrains himself.Â
Leaning against a tree out front, he twirls the ring around his finger as he watches her clean up. For the first time in a long time, he slips it off.
Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.
Guys I cannot stress this enough, there is SMUT in this chapter. There is also dubious consent because of alcohol, as well as dark!Johnny being dark. He's not a good guy in this story and he's not all the way human, so his morals are WAY off--also I don't write smut very often so pls tell me if it was bad.
A bottle of wine later and you were feeling much better about the situation. After all, you werenât sure you even wanted to kiss Charlieâhe dressed like a frumpy old man and had weekly dinners with his grandmother.Â
Before he was a slag, those qualities were endearing, like a stray dog with an ear flopped over. Now, they were justâŠunappetizing.
Not like Johnny, ridiculous mohawk or no.Â
You uncorked another bottle of the expensive wine Tom had gotten you for Christmas and poured yourself another hefty glass, Pride and Prejudice 2005 keeping you company on the telly.Â
It was nine oâclock. You texted Tom to make sure he had Emma in bed, just a touch too tipsy to see the keys properly.
Yes, sheâs asleep, are you drunk??
You smiled to yourself. No.
Did you get stood up again?
You sniffled. Fuck off.Â
You forced yourself away from the phone, focusing back on Mr. Darcy and the infamous hand scene.Â
You found yourself thinking about Johnny again. The first time he kissed you was a little fuzzy, but you could remember the hand gripping your chin, the fingers digging into your skin.Â
It had been like he had wanted to devour you, and you were just happy to be devoured.Â
It was half-way through the glass when a knock came to the door.
It was probably Charlie, with his tail between his legs. You sighed, pausing the telly as you wobbled to your feet.
âWhat?â You snapped, ripping the door open.
âNice pajamas, kitty.â
Johnny stood on your doorstep once again, carrying a takeout box that smelled suspiciously like your favorite pizza and garlic knots. He smiled, so blue-eyed and pretty it physically made you want to cry.
âWhat do you want?â You sighed, steadying yourself against the wall. âCanât a girl wallow in peace?â
âAh, did I interrupt a pity party, kitty?â Johnny teased, inviting himself in. âPerfect. I brought ye dinner.â
âJohnny,â you said, your voice pitching close to a whine.Â
He stilled, looking at you. His hand came up, pinching your chin like he used to. âYou havnae called me Johnny in a very long time.â The rawness of his voice broke you down into someone you used to be, someone that loved him.
You leaned into the warmth of his palm, unable to stop yourself. âYou were gone, Johnny. I missed you.â
Johnnyâs fingers tightened on your jaw, his mouth twisting to the side. His eyes flickered to the table, where the empty bottle sat. âYouâre shit-faced, kitty.â
You nodded, his thumb sliding up to brush against your bottom lip. âMâa light weight now. Motherhood means beinâ responsible, and no drinkinâ.â
âIt looks good on ye,â Johnny said, finally dropping his hand.
âWhat, the alcohol?â
âBeinâ a mother. I used to think about it sometimes, what you were doingâif you were with anyone, if you had any pups yet.â Johnny turned, busying himself with the pizza. âWhen they let me reach out to Tom, I think the first words out me mouth were about you.â
That surprised you. âHe never told me about that.â
âMmm,â Johnny rumbled. âHeâs a good brother. He told me you were happy, and that you werenât alone. That was it, no matter how much I asked.â He put a slice on a plate and gave it to you. âNow sit, kitty. I need you to sober up a bit.â
You obeyed, taking a bite as you sat before him. âI stopped trying to find you after her third birthday. I just figured that you would be better off not knowing, you know, I could finally move on.â The alcohol had dampened the anger in your chest, you feltâŠopen. Open to talking about it. Bleeding the poison from the wound.
Johnny slid a hand into his pocket, pulling out a very worn, very tattered picture of-
You. It was you six years ago, Johnnyâs arm around your shoulder as you laughed.âCarried it wâme all over the world, kitty.â
That contradicted everything. âBut why? You donâtâŠâ you trailed off, the wine haze falling away with your shock.Â
âWhy do you think I left, lass?â Johnny asked, his eyes reflecting the glare of the dim kitchen lights. âDid you ever ask yourself why the fuck I didnât call you or why I never responded to your letters?â
This was confusing. You frowned. âOf course I did. I just figured youâŠyou grew out of me. You found your family with people more like you.â
Johnny reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of papers, neatly gathered by a rubber band.Â
They were letters. Your letters, the ones you had sent when he left the first time, the pages yellowed and crumpled with use, as if they were read often.Â
âI kept âem, every last one,â Johnny trailed a hand over the paper, gently as if they were something precious. âDoes it look like I forgot you?â
âSure felt like it,â you said, but the venom was gone.Â
âSome of them still smelled like you. The lads thought Iâd lost me mind, reading the same fucking letters every night after missions.â
âJohnny,â you said. âJohnny this doesnât make any sense, I thoughtâŠI thought you came for Emma.â
âI dinnae know she even existed, kitty, I thought I was doing the right thing, staying a world away from you.â
âBut why? You-you broke my heart, I thought you didnât want anything to do with me or Tommy.â
Within a blink, Johnny was kneeling before you, his hands on your knees as his eyes bored into yours. You felt a chill, a whisper of fight or flight pricking your neck at his predatory stare.
âIt wasnât right, what I felt for the little girl I taught how to ride a bike, kitty,â he whispered. âI left because you were sixteen and I shouldn't have been thinking the things I was thinking. Itâs different for wolves, see, weâŠwe know when someone is right for us, we can smell it, and itâs hard to fight instinct, kitty, itâs who we are.â
âBut I loved you enough to think about your future. I wanted you to have a life without me standinâ over your shoulder, I wanted to give you time to choose what you wanted.â
âI wanted you,â you said honestly, reeling from his words.
âI know, kitty, but that didnât make it right. I came back a few years later thinkinâ maybe things would be different, that maybe I could control myself butâŠI couldnât stand beinâ in a fuckinâ room with you. I couldnât breathe, I couldnât think, so I signed for another contract, this one different from the others. They would take me away from you, and in return I could hunt, I could be me, the real me, for the first time in me lifeâbecause if I was myself around you, you wouldnât like it very much, bonnie.â He nuzzled into your neck, breathing in deep. âThen suddenly you were there, the night before I was sâposed to leave, and you were fuckinâ sloshed and gorgeous and everything I couldnât have.â
You remembered that night fuzzily. It hadnât taken much, just a smile pointed his way and your clumsy kiss on his cheek then suddenly he was pulling you away from the bar, shoving his tongue down your throat in the dark back alley. He had tasted like beer and whiskey and Johnny. You had never wanted him more.
Your eyes welled up. You looked away, blinking furiously. âJohnny,â you sighed. âI canât. I spent six years being so unbelievably hurt, you canât fix it in a night.â
He kissed your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin. âI know, kitty, Iâll spent the rest of our fuckinâ life making it right. Everything I ever wanted with you happened while I wasnât here, Iâll never let you go now.â
You tried to push him away, but Johnny was a big lad, his hands sliding to your hips to clutch you closer. He licked away the tears on your cheek with a hum, just like Emma always tried to do.Â
âIâm not yours,â you said, your voice holding zero conviction. âYou left.â
But Johnny wasnât paying attention, his face in your hair. âYou smell like the mother of my baby, â he said roughly, inhaling. âWhen Tom told me you were with someone two years ago, I lost control for the first time in a fucking decade. Bit a head off or two, imagininâ they were him, this bastard you allowed in my place.â His teeth nipped at your collar, already longer and sharper than they had been a moment before.Â
âJohn,â you said, pushing at his chest. âWhat are you doing?â
Johnny pulled away, his eyes sparkling. âCâmon, kitty cat, we both know how pent-up ya are,â he went in for a kiss but you turned your head, his mouth landing on your chin. It didnât stop him though, his tongue laving a line from your chin to the corner of your mouth. âPlease, kitty, lemme help,â Johnny panted, his breath hot and sticky against your skin. âIâll make it worth your while.â
You had forgotten how gross he was sometimes, how he liked to lick and bite, even when you play-fought as kids. It turned you on more than anything, white-hot liquid pooling in your belly as the musky taste of his hormones filled the air.
You let him kiss you. Johnny made a noise, a mix between a growl and a whine as he got to work ruining your mouth.
It wasnât a good kissâbut it was so Johnny, messy and wild and slightly painful, his teeth catching on your bottom lip just so he could lick the pinpricks of blood away.Â
âMissed ya, kitty cat,â he said, forcing you to look in his eyes while he swiped his tongue back into your throat. âAll I had was a picture and letters, but I could get off just from you writing that you missed me, just from your smell lingering on the fucking paper.â
You made a surprised noise in the back of your throat, the wine causing you to shift in your seat, feeling the heat of your arousal soak through your underwear.
Johnny inhaled deeply, shoving his head between your legs before you could pull away. He bit you through your pajama pants playfully, his teeth digging into the soft meat of your thigh.Â
You yelped and he laughed, a harsh, gritty noise that made you shiver.
âJohnny,â you whined, pushing at his head.Â
âJohnny,â he mimicked, grinning as he nipped at your fingers. The glint in his eye reminded you of simpler days, when he was just lazy-eyed Johnny that made you laugh.Â
âThis is such a bad idea,â you said weakly. Your head was spinning, dizzy with alcohol and desire.
âYou can hate me tomorrow, bonnie,â he said fondly, kissing your knee as he slid your pajama pants down your hips.Â
And you allowed it. You let him shuck your pants, you let him paste sticky kisses to your underwear line, his penchant for dirty talk that you barely remembered coming in full swing as he swiped a callused finger through your slick.
âMy poor girl,â Johnny cooed, sinking his teeth into your thigh as if to control himself. âI tried to be good, kitty, I tried so, so fuckinâ hardâI was gonnae take my time, win ya over, wait until you were fuckinâ gagginâ for it, but Iâm just not that man anymore.â
You slid your hand through his hair, just like you used to, that old love squeezing your heart so hard you thought it might burst. It was soft and thick, your nails scraping against his scalp.Â
The simple act of affection pushed him over the edge. He had his mouth on you in an instant, the lacy edges of your underwear drifting to the floor in shreds.Â
Your whine was caught in your throat when Johnny gripped your hips with sharpened nails, dragging you closer to himself with a ripple of power.
Johnny didnât look like Johnny anymore. The humor drained from his gaze as he looked up at you, the blue sharpening into something cruel, something like a killer.
Something like a wolf.Â
You looked away as he licked a line from back to front, pleasure shuddering up your spine. God it had been so long-
âOh, no, bonnie,â Johnny panted, the sharp drag of his nails painful against your hips. âEyes down here. Donât ever fuckinâ look away.â His hand grabbed your chin, pulling your attention back to him. âWatch,â he said, his tone deadly soft.Â
Johnny had always known how to embarrass you, how to make you squirm. He licked and sucked, dipping his tongue inside of you just to tease, just to make you yelp and blush.Â
It felt like hours. You would make a soft noise and he would slide another finger inside of you just to make you squeal, the stretch making your jaw drop.Â
âSheâs cryinâ for it, eh, kitty?â Johnny whispered, flexing his hand. âShe was fuckinâ waiting for me.â
You come embarrassingly quick, gripping his hair and squirming as you cream into his mouth. He continues licking you far past the trembling aftershocks, cleaning up his mess like a good dog.
âToo much, too much,â you hissed, wriggling away from his needful mouth.Â
Johnny fucking laughed at you, his mouth slick and his eyes so hazy he looked as drunk as you felt. âIâve been thinkinâ about the way ya taste for so long I thought I dreamed it.â
He looked younger for a moment, the scars disappearing, the stray gray hairs in his mohawk fading to brown. Suddenly, you couldnât stand to look at him, the heat cooling on your skin.Â
âJohnny,â you said, choking on your words. You couldnât help the tears pricking your eyes, a stray tear falling down your cheek.Â
âShh, bonnie,â Johnny brought you in his arms, guiding your head into the space between his shoulder and neck with his wide palm. âYouâre all tuckered out, hmm? Iâm sorry, kitty, I didnât mean ta push you so farâŠâ
He whispered in your ear while he carried you to bed, his accent twisting and turning the words into Scottish gibberish. You nodded sleepily against his shoulder, already half-convincing yourself that this was a dream as he tucked you in bed like a little girl.
âNight, bonnie,â Johnny whispered, pressing a scratchy kiss to your forehead.Â
You mumbled something incoherent, tucking your pillow over your head.
Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.
Johnny spent a fair amount of time with you and Emma for the next week, weaseling himself into your schedule with a kind of single-minded determination that must have gotten him far in the military.
By Friday, you were exhausted, irritated, overstimulated, and, disappointingly enough, horny. It turned out the lack of sex over the last year or two had turned your hormones into monsters that were very attracted to the nice smelling man that fixed your refrigerator and coaxed Emma to eat her greens. It didnât seem to matter that it was Johnny of all people, or the fact that you still couldnât look at him without anger sparking in your heart.
What was worse was that Johnny brought up finances on Thursday, mentioning something about helping with the bills. That had been like a shot of adrenaline, your blood pressure rising through the roof..Â
You had dropped the bowl you were washing into the sink, shattering it into a thousand pieces. âI donât need your help, John,â you had snapped. âI havenât for the last decade.â
Johnny left shortly after that, seeming to have traded in his old hot-headedness for the same soft, patient tone he uses with Emma. He had explained it well, saying he hadnât had a house or a family to spend his savings on in the last six years, and he wanted to ease the load for both you and Emmaâs sakes.
But it was the fact that he felt so comfortable to casually interject himself into your lives. What would happen if you became dependent on Johnny again and he died? Or decided that family life wasnât for him?
Then both you and Emma would be crushed. You didnât want your finances to be involved as well.
So you were angry with him, avoiding the polite texts he had sent and the phone call that you sent to voicemail. All you wanted was peace and a night out with Charlie, perhaps a bit of making out and/or hands-in-pants involved.
You hadnât gone that far with Charlie yet. Both of you had been burned in the past and you were enjoying the slowness of it all.
Today, however, you were ready to be properly touched by a man. It had been too long.
Emma was spending the day with her grandparents by their requestâthey had picked her up an hour ago, your Mum seeming to sense you needed a nice, peaceful morning.Â
You did laundry. You cleaned the kitchen. You made yourself lunch and watched an entire episode of the Bachelor without interruption, then took a hot bath with rose petals and a vibrator.
It was lovely.
You were cheerful as you dressed and packed Emmaâs overnight bag, planning on dropping it off at Tomâs place since your parents had her.Â
It was a nice walk, the air brisk and the snow crisp under your boots. You went over the Emma list in your mind: snacks, her favorite books, her favorite stuffy, toothbrush, pjâs, a chilled and chopped steak in case Tom had forgotten to grab dinner, crayons, paperâŠ
Before you knew it, you were popping the door open with your hip. You had already mentioned to Tom you were popping in so there shouldnât be any unwelcome, undressed visitors.
Except there was.
A man in a black surgical mask stood in the dark of Tomâs hallway, huge, dark-eyed, and super fucking bloody intimidating.
 You dropped the bag with a screech, thinking of burglars, murderers,oh-my-god-is-Tommy-murdered-like-that-woman-in-that-documentary-you-saw-once-
âShut up!â Tommy said, frowning at you from the couch. âFuck, lovie, heâs a friend from work.â
The man in the mask raised a hand in an awkward wave.
âOh,â you said, your heart pounding in your ears. âOh, Iâm so sorry. Youâre a right scary chap and my brother usually keeps female company.â
âYouâre alright, love,â the masked man said, his voice like gravel. He picked up Emmaâs backpack from the floor, offering it to you with a massive hand.
The mask was odd and the hoodie covering the rest of his face and hair was odder. But your brother had rather imaginative taste in friends and you had seen and met much worse.
âThank you,â you said, smiling as your heart resumed its normal pace. âIâm his sister.â
The man hummed, as if amused. âI can tell.â He offered you a gloved palm. âMâname is Simon.â
You shook it firmly, giving him your name in return. âSorry, if I had known if Tommy was having company I wouldâve called before I came over.â
âHeâs not company, heâs a guest,â Tommy said, rising to herd you into the kitchen. âHeâs staying here for a bit with Johnny.â
That certainly had your spine straightening. You hadnât thought Johnny would still be here, after all there were a dozen relatives that would all love to host their long lost war hero.
âHeâs out for an errand, lovie, donât look so tense.âÂ
You relaxed a fraction, soothed by the thought that you wonât have to deal with Johnny in your hair before your date with Charlie.
âYouâre a friend of Johnâs then?â You asked Simon, your tone just a mite cooler than it had been before.Â
Simon nodded, his dark gaze tinged with humor. âDonât hold it against me, love.â
It took you a second to see that he was a wolf too. It was all in the way he moved, the languid way he blinked at his surroundings. âEasier said than done,â you teased, forcing yourself into the good mood you were in before. âIn that case, Tom, do I need to reschedule? Emma isnât much for strangers.â
Tom shrugged, unzipping Emâs pack.âJohnny isnât much of a stranger now, and Simon is a good lad, he wonât mind her.â
Simon nodded again, sinking into the shadows as he took a seat at the kitchen table. âIâve heard sheâs a sweet girl.â
âThe best,â you said, smiling.Â
âJesus, lovie, did you pack enough?â Tom said dryly, pulling out the sliced steak. âIâve never let the girl starve, not in the last six years.â
âYouâre a busy man, I was just making sure in case you forgot,â you said. âBy the way, she likes a glass of milk before bed now. And her favorite book is the one on top, the one with the rabbits, plus King Robert is the sheep she sleeps with-â
âRight. Iâve got this. I promise.â
You felt Simonâs eyes on you, judging, appraising. You were sure Johnny probably didnât have the nicest things to say about youâmost likely that you were an irritating little girl that followed him around for twenty years then proceeded to get pregnant and raise the child without him knowing,
âAnd Johnny will be here, so heâll be able to spend some time with her,â Tom said, putting the steak in the fridge. âIf thatâs alright with you.â
âIt sounds like itâs already been planned,â you said, trying your very best not to be hateful in front of guests.
Tom sighed. âIf I were half as smart as you think I am with your theories of scheming and plotting, Iâd be living in a much nicer neighborhood.â
Simon made an agreeable noise, his nose now in some masculine-looking magazine with bears and car parts on the front. He was quite a large man, commanding such a presence.
Johnny was an unsuspecting kind of violent, always smiling and laughing until he wasnât, until it was serious.
Simon was different. He felt older.Â
Oddly, you didnât mind him around Emma. Youâve wanted to expose her around more adult wolves anyways, so sheâll learn her manners.
âYouâre sure youâll be alright?â You said, anxiety creeping in like it always did whenever you would be separated from Emma for longer than a few hours.Â
âWeâll all keep an eye on her, pet,â Simon said. âBetween the three of us, I think sheâll be safe.â
You relaxed. âRight. Thank you, Simon.â
Tommy ushered you out of his house quickly after that, his phone blowing up with Johnnyâs texts and calls. You saw his black truck pull up minutes later, but by then you were already through your door.Â
Emma and your parents stopped by for lunch, your mother chattering about how she had seen Johnny at the grocery store and how much he had grown. It was like the last six years had been erased in their minds, the times when Emma was ill and you were at your witâs end, the pregnancy you had spent constantly sick and deeply depressedâall of it was gone.Â
Your mother was imagining a new life for her daughter, a life of being married to the man that gave you Emma and making a dozen more pups in a nicer house, with financial stability.
She didnât know the whole story with Johnnyâhardly anyone did. She assumed the two of you had been dating when you had conceived Emma, and you had never thought to tell her differently.
Johnny had never actually wanted you. He was just drunk and about to truly leave the only home he had ever known. And you were right there, tipsy and desperate for his attention. You had missed him like a lost limb when he started ignoring your letters and calls, and seeing him again had brought up all those feelings again.Â
But now, he was just setting a trap. He wanted to be in Emmaâs life, and when her grandparents, uncle, and various other relatives were on his sideâŠit made your life a lot harder.
Emma nuzzled into your side, sensing your turn in mood. âYou smell sad,â she said, her mouth dusted with biscuit crumbs. âYou always smell sad.â
Your mother heard her, and seemed to gain some perspective. âWhen I saw him, I was so angry. I just thought of all the things he had done to youâŠbut then, when I came up to him, he was just so different. Heâs a different man than he was all those years ago.â
And you were a different woman. It wasnât revolutionary to change.Â
Emma followed you into your bathroom and watched as you began to primp, perched up on your counter as you brushed your teeth and curled your hair, patting makeup over the purple half-moons under your eyes.
Emma was quiet mostly, sensing the strange mood you were in. She played with your red lipstick and powder, smudging them around her lips. âCareful, it might stain,â you said. âAnd what will Tom say if youâve got red all over your face?â
âIs Johnny going to be there?â Emma asked hopefully. âHeâs fun.â
âYes, heâs staying at Uncle Tomâs house.â
She nodded, smiling messily at herself in the mirror. âHe smells just like me, Mum, and he looks like me too.â
âHeâs your father, Em, of course he does.â You blinked hard in the mirror, trying not to cry.
âBut MumâŠâ Emma looked at you, her face suddenly serious. âIf you donât like Johnny, I donât like him either.â
You actually did cry then, bringing your daughter to your chest like you did when she was a baby. You could still remember the day that you first held her in your arms, and all of the heartbreak had seemed worth it. âGod, Em, itâs not like I donât like him,â you said, burying your face in her strawberry-shampoo scented hair. âItâs justâŠweâre adults, and adults have tricky feelings. I could never dislike Johnny, he gave you to me.â
âBut youâre so sad when heâs here, we can smell it,â Emma said, sniffling.Â
âIâm always sad, Em, I cried every morning I dropped you off at school for months.â
That seemed to make her feel better. She snuffled, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. âAre you going to see the book man?â She asked.
You nodded. âWeâre friends, weâre going to go have dinner, maybe see a movie.â
âGood,â she said, wiser than her years. âYou never go out.â
She allowed you to wipe the makeup from her mouth without a fuss before your parents ushered her out the door, giving your cheek a slobbery kiss before waving goodbye.
The house was too quiet, so you turned on music, the old crooning stuff that Jack liked. Another half an hour and you were ready, wearing your second-nicest dress and your favorite red heels as you frantically dried your Chanel nail polish.Â
Charlie was usually early, but time ticked on well past the time he was supposed to be there. Heâs never been late, not in the two years you had known him, not even to work.Â
You texted a few times, staring at the screen for a response. He lived in the city, so an accident was well possibleâhe wouldnât just ditch you, would he?
Maybe he had forgotten. You did make the plans the week beforeâŠ
Time ticked on. You gave him a call.
âHello?â
Charlie sounded distracted and irritated. You cleared your throat, âHey, Charlie, I was just calling to see if weâre still on tonight?â
Charlie made an apologetic noise. âAh, shit, I forgot.â
âOh,â you said, trying very hard not to sound hurt.Â
âOur team had a last minute thing at the bar and I completely forgot about our date, sweetie, Iâm so sorry.â
âThatâs-thatâs alright,â you said, kicking off your heels.Â
âWould you like to join us? Weâre at the corner bar where the boss had his divorce party.â
âNo, no, thatâs alright. Iâm not really in the mood for a bar,â you said, undoing the clasps to your nice earrings. âRain check, I suppose.â
âI really am sorry,â Charlie said, sounding it. âI canât believe I forgot.â
âI canât believe it either,â you said, then you hung up.Â
You stared at the phone, feeling miserable and very, very sorry for yourself. Of course, the first date in ages and you get tossed up for a group of sweaty, gross men.
You showered, to scrub the makeup and product out of your hair. You might have cried a bit, but that was between you and the water faucet.
Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.
Part 4
Chapter 4
 Charlie hung around you at work, keeping you company while you shared the load of reshelving books. Usually, it was the internâs job but the holidays had left you short-staffed.
He was funny in a bashful way, blushing whenever he made you laugh. It was nice to see that you were still desirable sometimes, that men didnât repel away from you just because you were a single mother.
âSo, what are your plans tonight?â He asked, straightening up a section of R.L Stine books. âIâm supposed to have supper with my gran, she made me promise to bring chinese.â
âEmmaâs father is in for a bit,â you said casually. âHeâs coming to the house to see her.â He was going to find out eventually, might as well get it out of the way before your date later this week.
Charlie paused mid-shelf, raising a brow. âI thought he was out of the picture.â
âHe was supposed to be,â you sighed. âTom brought him back, and I couldnât keep it from him anymore.â
Charlie knew your story, he spent two years weaseling it out of you while you were just coworkers. You knew he had a little crush on you, but you hadnât expected him to actually ask you out until, well, he did.
âThatâs shitty,â Charlie said, frowning. âSo, what is he threatening legal action?â
Johnny probably would, to get to Emma. But you shook your head, âNo, I just couldnât bring myself to keep him away. She had already seen him and smelled him and was asking questionsâI figured it was time.â
âI see,â Charlie said, even-tempered as always. âIs he good with her?â
You shrugged. âI suppose. I mean heâll probably see her a few weeks out of the year, so I donât know if it matters much if I allow him around her. I just donât want her to resent me when sheâs older.â
âIt sounds like youâre being very fair,â he responded. âI donât know if I wouldâve reacted half as well if an ex girlfriend showed up wanting to see our kid.â
This was why you liked Charlie, he was so, so reasonable. He was older than you by a handful of years, in his thirties with a bachelor pad apartment and an obsession with historical fiction. The only downside about him was the fact he played rugby on his off days and his team wasâŠsleezy, at best. They were all thirty-somethings that spent more time at the bar than the field.Â
âThank you,â you said, smiling. âI feel like dousing him in gasoline and tossing the match, but I think Iâm hiding it quite well, arenât I?â
Charlie laughed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. âVery well, I think.â
On your way home, you stopped at the store for a pint of Emmaâs favorite ice cream, strawberries and cream, and a pint of fudge brownie for yourself. You would eat it when Emma goes to bed and Johnny leaves, so you could fall asleep on the couch like a loser with your ice cream and Bridget Jonesâs Diary on the telly.
Johnny was waiting at your house already, pacing like a caged dog. He looked up while you approached with Emma in hand, his eyes reflecting eerily off the street lights.Â
He calmed when he looked at the two of you, the jitteriness smoothing away in an instant as he smiled. Emma let go of your hand to reach him first, digging through her backpack to show off the A+ drawing she had gotten in art class.
You frowned and moved closerâshe hadnât shown you earlier.
âMe and Mum,â she said, gesturing to your vague figure wielding what looked to be a baseball bat, Emma standing behind you looking scared. âThat time when she hit that scary man really, really hard.â
The bottom of your stomach dropped out, your hands breaking out in a cold sweat at just the mention of that horrible night.
You winced when Johnny looked at you questioningly, his posture straightening as if to intimidate.âEmma, hon, that doesnât look like a good memory to me,â you said, shaking your head at him. Please donât ask.
âI like it,â she said, tracing your stick figureâs stern features. âYou havenât got any teeth or claws but it didnât matter.â
âYour mum never let little things like that bother âer,â Johnny said, bemused. âShe used to brawl with her brother like a grown man.â
Emma smiled. âShe still does.â
âOkay, Emma,â you interjected, cocking a brow at her. âThe ice cream is melting, time to go inside.â
She nodded, disappearing into her room to shuck her school clothes and dig the clips out of her hair.
Johnny caught your arm as you took the pints out of the paper sack. âWhassat sheâs talking âbout, kitty?â
âOh, itâsâŠI donât like to relive it, John.â
âCâmon, hen, it sounded pretty fuckinâ important.â
You sighed. âShe got away from me at a grocery store last year, just bolted when I tried to catch her. I chased her around the store until I heard...well, I heard a scream.â
Johnnyâs hand tightened around your arm, almost to the point of bruising.Â
âA man had cornered her in the parking lot. He was one of those wolf catchers, I think, the ones that take them and put them in those fighting cages.â You placed the ice cream in the freezer, your eyes clouded over with the memory. âI dunno what happened, I justâŠI saw red. There was a pipe on the dumpster and I grabbed it and swung and swung until there wasnât much left.â
You remembered the feeling of blood on your hands, your daughter crawling into your arms to lick the tears off your face, trying to comfort, to bring you back to earth.
Johnny gripped your shoulders so he could look into your eyes, tilting your chin up with one of his calloused fingers. âYou killed âim?â
You nodded. âThe policeâŠthey already had warrants out for his arrest and there was a video documenting everything. I got off scot-free but EmmaâŠEmma saw the whole thing. I still canât forgive myself for it.â
âThe fucker deserved it, love, trust me. You kept our daughter safe without teeth or claws.â Johnny brought you in for a hug for the first time in six years, his chest warm and broad and comforting. âAnd Emma will be fine, lass, I promise. Sheâs not like a human bairnâin her mind, you proved your strength as a mother, that you would do anythinâ for âer.â
Is that how they really thought? You relaxed in his hold without thinking, his shirt smelling like sweat and cologne and the unmistakable musk of a wolf. âI donât even remember it, really. Apparently he got a few hits in beforeâŠbut I never felt itâat least not until the hospital afterwards.â
Johnny gripped you tighter, his arms crushing your shoulders into his chest. âIâm sorry, kitty.â
âFor what?â You asked dizzily, captivated by his warmth and smell. It was like he was putting off some kind of hormones, drawing you in closer.Â
âFer not beinâ here. Youâve done it all alone.â His hand came to caress your face, thumb snagging on your lower lip. âYou wonât be alone again, kitty.â
That made you pause. You stiffened in his hold, stepping away.
God, he was still so dangerous for you. You were pathetic, this was pathetic, he didnât want youâhe wanted Emma. He never would have come back for you.
âSorry, John,â you said, forcing a smile. âGot a wee bit emotional there.â
But Johnny didnât say a word. Just looked at you with his too-bright blue eyes and nodded, his jaw clenched with tension.Â
âI donât think itâs a good idea to beâŠtouching. Especially in front of Emma. The girls at school are already giving her the wrong ideas about you and I.â You leaned your hip against the counter, trying to be casual. âI donât want to confuse her.â
You tensed, preparing for a classic Johnny display of the short temper he used to have.Â
Instead, Johnny smiled understandingly. âOf course, kitty, Iâll do what you need me to.â
He really was a different man. Perhaps all the war and killing really was good for his temperament.
You smiled at him, this one genuine. âOkay. I think Iâm going to order in, how does Chinese sound?â
Johnny sat on your couch, eating beef Lo mein with your daughter on his lap. He seemed perfectly content, sharing his food with her and answering her ceaseless questions about explosivesâEmma had found out that was what he specialized in.Â
A Christmas movie was on the telly, one of your favorites, and it was nice to be able to eat a meal without Emma snuggling into your hip and picking the meat out of your noodles.Â
Your earlier conversation with Johnny had lightened your mood, so you left them to the couch, curling up on the loveseat instead. You had been too distracted to eat at lunch so you got to work on your takeout, only feeling a brief bit of weirdness that Johnny had absolutely insisted on paying for the food.
Your phone rang from the countertop you had left it on. You sighed, setting aside your fried rice to answer it.
It was Charlie. A part of you warmedâyou needed a distraction from Johnny.Â
You slipped into your bedroom, leaving the door cracked so you could still keep an eye on Emma. âHey, Charlie,â you said, cupping the phone to your ear.
âHey, honey, sorry for calling so late,â Charlie said, the soft noises of an elderly woman speaking in the background. âI was just thinking about you and thought I would see what youâre up to.â
âTakeout and Home Alone,â You said, sitting back against your bed. It was small and only really had room for youâwhich was a deterrent against men who ever wanted to stay the night. âHow is Gran?â
âSheâs fantastic, sheâs eating pizza and watching Doctor Who on the telly, itâs our perfect night in.â
You laughed, enjoying the thought of a man who would routinely eat dinner with his grandmother two nights a week. âThat sounds nice.â
âIt is. Whatâs the bear up to?â
Emma and Charlie got along quite well, he was good with kids and Emma referred to him as âthe book man.â
âJohn is over spending time with her, Iâve left them to it.â
âAh, thatâs right, I had forgotten. Do you need to go?â
âNo, no, theyâll be fine for a bit. I needed a break anyway.â
You chatted to Charlie for a few minutes further before you returned to the living room, getting back to your fried rice without looking once at Johnny.Â
âWho was that, Mum?â Emma the Nose asked, eyeing your shrimp in a way that had you rolling your eyes.
âCharlie,â you said. âFrom work.â You refused to blush, knowing that Emma liked to tease, much like her father.
âA coworker?â Johnny rumbled, his eyes half-lidded and lazy. âDidnât sound like it.â
You leveled a look at him, a look that clearly said none of your fucking business.Â
Johnnyâs mouth quirked, though there was no humor in his eyes. âSounds like a nice chap,â he said dryly, turning back to the telly.
Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.
Part 3
Johnny knocked on the door at 8:15, carrying two pounds of bacon and a book about whales.
The bastard. Tom must have told him that whales were Emmaâs weakness.
âHi, Kitty,â Johnny said, smiling. He twitched like he wanted to lean in and kiss your cheek, but managed to restrain himself.
âJohn,â you said. You were dressed more appropriately this time, a Black Sabbath tee and sweats, your work clothes of pencil skirts, trousers, and wool sweaters currently drying on the laundry lines in the backyard.Â
Emma touched the back of your leg, peering out at Johnny with a kind of fascinated dislike. âYouâre taller than I thought you were,â she said, her tone disapproving.
You smiled then, suddenly full of warm affection for your daughter. âLet the man come inside, bear, itâs freezing out there.â
Johnny stepped inside your house and something inside of you clenched, forcing yourself to step back and allow Johnny his moment with your daughter.
They looked at each other. Father to daughter, their eyes so alike, their hair the same color, all the missing pieces falling into place.
Johnny crouched, going eye-level with her. âHi, Emma,â he said, his voice hoarse as he attempted to smile. âMy nameâs Johnny.â
Emma smiled, her first missing tooth winking at him.
âOf course, we have âim hung up in the living room with little strings, right next to Grandpa Jackâs chair.â
It was true. A paper mache blue whale hung from your ceiling in the place of honor, a tiny Christmas hat perched on his head for the upcoming holidays.Â
You had to look away from them, focusing on pouring Emma her usual glass of milk and Johnny a coffee. He despised tea.
âDrink,â you said, pushing the glass towards her. âItâs good for your brain.â
Emma two-handed it, just like you tell her to. It seemed she was trying to be on her best behavior, the little traitor. âHowâd you know itâs good for my brain?â She asked, sniffing Johnnyâs coffee as you placed it before him.
âThank you,â he said quietly, trying to meet your eyes but failing when you turned back to their breakfast, a mess of eggs and bacon and raw deer.
âI looked it up on the internet, bear. Good fats are good for your brain.â
âThatâs what she says when she wants me to eat something, Johnny,â Emma said. âThat itâs good for my brain. Sheâs always reading books on what to feed me so I can get taller.â
âI was an itty-bitty sprite when I was your age, lass, Iâm sure itâll kick in with a few more years,â Johnny said, his hand stroking her soft hair as if he couldnât believe she was real.Â
It went on like this until you put food in front of them, taking a seat across from Emma with your coffee and toast. You were never hungry this early, mostly because you were usually handling raw liver or beef tongue at eight in the morning and that sent your appetite right down the drain.
Johnny noticed. âNot even gonna have bacon, kitty?â
âShe never eats breakfast,â Emma the tattletale said, spooning up a bit of deer. âShe doesnât like anything raw.â
Johnny smiled, as if remembering some fond memory. âShe was always a wee bit squeamish, your ma.â
You didnât dignify that with a response, scraping a pat of butter over your toast.
It dragged on longer than you had planned, Johnny standing to help you clear away the plates while Emma yawned, blinking sleepily at the couch in the living room. She was past the age of scheduled naps but on the weekends you were lax with her, letting her pass out on the sofa while you caught up on work or reading.Â
Johnny seemed to understand that he was overstaying his welcome, though his eyes followed your daughter in that wide-eyed yearning look that got him anything he wanted when you were children. âRight then, Emma,â he said, ruffling her hair. âIâll leave you to a nap, yeah?â
âWhat are you gonna do all day, Johnny?â Emma asked, already curling up in her favorite woolen blanket.Â
Johnny shrugged, brushing her cheek with his thumb. âI dunno, lass. Iâm off work for the month.â
âYou should go to the park,â Emma said sleepily. âThe parkâs nice. Mum likes to read there.â
âThatâs a grand idea, lass,â he said gently. âIt was lovely tâmeet you, Emma.â
She mumbled something else, tucking her nose deeper into the blankets as she began to snore. Something in your chest squeezed when Johnny tucked the blanket around Emmaâs skinny arms, more gentle than you had ever seen him.
He looked at you then, his eyes all blue and warm. âThank ye, kitty.â
You nodded. âYouâre welcome. But you should go now.â
You didnât want him to linger, didnât want him in your house while Emma was asleep, because that meant his attention was on you.Â
Johnny stood, towering over you. âOf course, kitty.â
You walked him to the door, your arms crossed protectively over your chest.Â
He paused on the doorstep. âCan IâŠCan I come again?â
You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying no, to stop this cycle before it began. You didnât want Emma getting used to a father that was gone eighty percent of the year.Â
Johnny gripped the porch, as if preparing himself for your refusal. It was that gesture that made you sigh, looking out at the empty, icy street.Â
âTomorrow. I walk her home from school on my lunch break from work to Julieneâs house,â you pointed out a red brick cottage with sweet-faced woman gardening in the front. âSheâs a godsend, she watches her until five now that JackâŠJackâs gone. Then I get home from work and make supper. Come then.â
Meals would be easier, there was something for you to do while Johnny spent time with Emma, so you wouldnât have to look at him constantly proving your teenage dreams right of him being a good father.
Johnny smiled, just like he used to, all teeth and excitement. âI donât know how to tell ye how much this means tâme,â he said, stepping into your space again. You wondered how long he had been without human interactions for him to ignore societal rules like personal space.Â
âI donât deserve the chance youâve given me, kitty,â Johnny said, the warmth of his body so close to yours oppressive. âGod knows we have some unresolved words between us, but youâre the best mother I couldâve hoped for, considering that sheâsâŠwell, sheâs like me.â
Johnny was raised by a human mother that treated him vaguely like a lapdog. Susan didnât know what to do with a little boy that chewed on the furniture and got sick when she didnât let him eat raw meat.Â
It took Susan a long time to see the error in her ways, but still. You donât let her watch Emma.
âI would be a monster to keep her from you,â you said dully, stepping back to regain your space. âShe was already waiting for you.â
Something shifted in his eyes. You didnât like that look, it was the dark, possessive look he would give other kids whenever they tried to tease Tommy and you out of playing with him.Â
Call it paranoia, but it seemed like he was already thinking of your little family as his.Â
***
Emma waited for you next to the school doors, wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh sweater and her favorite dark blue jeans. Her friend Sasha was beside her, playing dolls with the little yarn princesses you had gotten them both last Christmas.
âGirls,â you greeted, smiling. âSasha, are you walking home with us today?â Emma flew into your arms with a yip, barely restraining herself from licking your face.
It had taken a few years but she eventually learned that licking peopleâs faces, even her motherâs, was bad manners and generally unpleasant for the person involved.Â
Sasha nodded, âMum asked me to ask if you would. Daddy wouldnât leave work.â
Sasha was another case of a single mother and deadbeat father, and you had told her mother that you were willing to help with her any way you could. After all, it took a village for you to get stable with Emma, itâs worse when you donât have anyone at all.
âCâmon, then,â you said, digging into your purse. âI brought snacks.â
Sasha and Emma brightened at the sight of two paper-wrapped biscuits, guilt-gifts from Tommy.Â
The library was only a short walk to her school, and your home was only a short walk to the library, so you had just given up on the expense of having a car, borrowing Tomâs whenever you needed to drive to the city. You ushered the girls onto the sidewalk, making each of them hold your hand.Â
âTell me about your day, girls,â you said. âWhat did you learn?â
That began a river of chatter that you could get comfortably lost in, tales of poem books and origami and cheese sandwiches for lunch.
You liked Sasha, she was a sweet girl that didnât mind your daughterâs wolfish tendencies, and they had been friends for practically half their lives. Sasha made you think about one day having another kid, maybe with a husband and a bigger house.Â
The thought was easier when Johnny wasnât around. He wouldnât like any other man acting like a father to Emma, though you doubted it would bother him if you found a man to marry. He probably spent the majority of his leave at bars with pretty, childless women, while you were just a slightly sour memory of the girl he knew growing up.Â
And Johnny would be gone soon. A month, he had said? You doubted it, they always called him back earlier.
âIs Johnny coming back?â Emma asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. Sasha smiled at herâthey had obviously discussed the mysterious appearance of Emmaâs father.
âYes,â you said. âHeâs going to have dinner with us tonight.â
âIs he your boyfriend?â Sasha asked curiously. âMy mum has a new boyfriend.â
The thought of dating Johnny made you want to vomit. âNo, of course not,â you said quickly, before the idea could take root in Emma. âHeâs Emmaâs father, and honestly, we donât know each other very well anymore. Heâs just here to spend time with you, bear.â
Sasha clearly didnât believe you, while Emma just nodded distantly, the cogs in her little brain churning.
You dropped Sasha off at her mother Lisaâs bakery. Lisa waved, mouthing thank you.Â
âDid you like Johnny once?â Emma asked. âLike how Judy likes Tobin in school?â
And there it was. Emma was not going to let this go.Â
âOnce,â you said. âBut then he left for a long time. We donât like each other like that anymore, bear, heâs just here for you.â
That disappointed her, and you hated disappointing her. She had probably built up an image of having a mother and a father, happy and in love just like the movies.
âOh, come on, bear,â you said, squeezing your shoulder. âYou get to see him tonight, and maybe if you ask nicely Iâll stop at the store on my way home for ice cream.â
That cheered her up a bit. Just like Johnny, she had a raging sweet tooth.
