On autopilot I drove, thinking of Nightback Ridge with Tina and Dawn. The true power a decade ago was in those women, and the thing to fear because they lifted him like he was nothing. I lived through Vietnam as a POW. For too many years, my existence was a nightmare, but Ifrozewhen I saw Henry. The man who went overseas and was tortured couldn't deal with an armored monster.
What would it be like for a little five-year-old girl?
Worse than anything I could imagine.
Ammonia-scented worry wafted off alerting Mike. "Just hoping she's okay." My fingers wrapped around the steering wheel hard.
Mike's eyes dipped momentarily. "And that's why we're going to Texas. To give everyone their answers."
"Glad you can learn from my words. It's about time." I grinned.
He rolled his eyes and flipped the radio back on. The ending notes ofNothing's Going to Stop Us Nowfaded out.The next song was more loud heavy metal, but nothing that was our music. Psychedelic and slow country music disappeared, replaced with a faster, neon generation. Thanks to our nature, we were still young-looking but didn't quite fit with those who looked our age.
People we've seen like Bobby and another gay couple Mike knew commented on 'how good life was treating us.' My combat brother knew our secret, but if wolves knew about a clued-in human, his life would be over like other friends who died overseas. So we kept our distance.
Is that what we'll do? Live away from everyone?
Is that what we're doing with Angel? Staying away?
No. We'd see her soon, and I could take it if she didn't know or even hated me, but it would destroy Mike. Would she understand we tried to be there for her, at a distance? We created stories of dead long-lost relatives with wills and used connections to create jobs that paid over the going rate. All so her…parentscould take care of five little girls who stretched their finances.
We parked near a tall faded blue sign that saidHoward Johnson's Restaurant. With a deep breath, we got out, approaching the orange-roof. Once inside, shifter eyes searched for a brown, not blonde-haired girl. Mike stilled as his heartbeat quickened.
She sat in the middle of the restaurant, still and unreadable. Maybe she didn't see us. Maybe she was pretending. Her hair was long, the kind of effortless length hippie girls had in the sixties but streaked with fresh purple dye. Rebellion, or just style?
We approached the table, and the congealed meat smell did nothing for my nose or stomach. Mike could be infuriating, but he knew how to spoil me with high-quality cooking.
Two men with a lover's stance toward each other approached a fifteen-year-old girl. A few men stopped mid-chew, as if sensing something wrong. Mike stared, and his lip trembled slightly. "Calm down," I whispered. Using my Alpha's Word hadethical questions, but he deserved a sensible reunion, instead of breaking down in front of everyone.
We sat without asking, our movements hesitant, each glance at her face a search for recognition or rejection. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flickering between us and her resurfaced memories.
"Those two women," she said, her voice carefully measured. "You know them. And everything they told me, it's true, isn't it?" Her lips pursed just like her father's. She stared hard at us again, then back to Mike. "I… came from you?"
Mike blinked quickly, trying to hold back tears. "Yes. S-so long ago."
It was the eighties, and it didn't turn out to be the decade for gays. She wasn't homophobic, but knowing she came out of a man wasn't an easy truth to accept. That and a snake-monster were a lot for someone to handle. Her heart rate increased before slowing down again. "You aren't my father." The words were casual, without hate, but they knocked the air out of my lungs.
"Your genes aren't mine."
"He's a giant snake," Angel said as if she didn't believe.
"Technically an armored worm," said Mike.
No, it was a snake, and I don't know why he insisted on calling Henry a worm, but I wasn't going to argue.
She rubbed her face, sighing. "I have memories and nightmares." We gave her the rundown, or as much as you can in a few minutes, but leftthequestion for her.
"You gave me up!" Her voice cracked, rising in pitch. "Why? Why would you do that?" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Did you not want me?"
Father and daughter cried, both unable to speak while diners again stared in our direction. My tears stayed inside because someone had to be strong.
"You would have been broken," said Mike. "I didn't have the power to fix you, at least not without a terrible cost."
She stared back, looking like a smaller, feminine mirror of her father. Although, she was more hippie-looking than Mike, even in the sixties.
"You had to forget about me," said Mike. "Otherwise, you would have had nightmares."
"Like I do now."
