Dodger raises his arm from his face to shoot me a smart look. “Why are you asking me? I have no idea.”
We share a laugh. It helps loosen my shoulders as I keep tidying up.
“Just because we didn’t see your brother doesn’t mean he wasn’t there,” he reasons, pushing himself upright with a groan.
“True.” Collecting the ashes from the newspaper in a neat pile is simple. I focus on the task as I force the words out. I need to know. “Whoever you contacted, did you get any sense of them? Could you tell if they… were they angry, if they... how did they feel about me?”
“Linking up with the dead isn’t really my strong suit.” Dodger stretches his arms overhead. “Sorry. All I know is what we both saw.”
“Right, that’s fine.” I sweep the ashes into the trash.
“Why?” he asks. “Why would your brother be angry?”
Well, I started this by asking the question. I brought this on myself. He deserves the answer.
“We weren’t on the best terms when he died,” I admit, my voice coming out sharper than intended.
Dodger blinks, the gears turning in his head as he processes. It’s almost funny when he realizes we’re heading into another serious conversation. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. The same man who’d fearlessly contacted the spirit world and summoned beasts from other worlds looks spooked by family drama.
Guess I get that. Neither of us are very good at feelings. But when I’m around him, I want to try.
“Scoot over.” I gesture at him to give me some room and he moves his legs, creating just enough space for me to sink down beside him.
Dodger looks so young as he pulls his legs up under him and turns to face me. “Right, sure. Let’s talk.”
A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead. That familiar stubborn glint appears in his eyes—the same one I’d seen when he faced down spirits, monsters, and now the prospect of uncomfortable emotions. The sight of his quiet resolve loosens something in my chest and gives me the strength to speak.
“My brother James moved to Brighton because of me. Those Alphas I told you about that were busy wrangling the pack in my hometown and making sure nobody exposed our secrets? They were my parents.”
“Oh. Is that why you’re an Alpha?”
“Yeah. My brother and I were both trying to prove we should take over. The competition got pretty heated.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Wanted it so damn bad I lost sight of everything me winning meant, that for it to happen my brother had to lose. By the time I realized that earning Alpha would cost me a brother it was already too late. James and his wife weren’t happy my parents picked the unmated alpha, weren’t happy with a lot of things. We couldn’t smooth things over. They left the pack and started over somewhere else.”
“In Brighton,” he fills in.
“Yeah.” My eyes fall closed for a moment, wishing it were possible to change the ending. When I open them again, the cabin’s rustic ceiling comes into focus, wooden beams stretching overhead. “Before I even knew how to go about fixing things, they were gone.”
“That’s terrible,” he says quietly. His hand twitches on his knee like he might reach out.
“Being Alpha of the pack lasted for about two seconds,” I laugh bitterly. Worked so hard to get it and then it was gone so quickly. “I stepped down when they were killed and moved to Brighton. James and Elaine gave up their lives trying to protect people there, and with them gone, well, I figured someone should watch over things for them.”
Dodger nods, falling silent as he thinks it all over. After a moment, he extends his leg and nudges my thigh with his sock-covered foot. “You aren’t responsible for any of this. You know that, right?”
“James wouldn’t have even been in the city if it hadn’t been for me,” I say, guilt a familiar weight pressing against me.
Being mates with the guy whose brother was blamed for the attack that killed my brother hadn’t rattled me too much. When he confessed the connection between our brothers, it wasn’t shocking. Not sure exactly when I started putting it all together but it was one theory I’d started pondering that seemed to make sense. Maybe it was easy to accept because I’ve never directed my anger fully at the necromancer who orchestrated the attack, too busy pointing it inward, at the brother who drove them away to begin with.
“Well, I sensed that he’d forgiven you with my ghost powers.” Dodger waves his hands like he’s absolving me.
I eye him. “No, you didn’t.”
“Okay,” he admits, folding easily. “Isensedhe’d forgive you with my powers ofthe obvious.You may like carrying that guilt around, but you gave up your pack, you put up with a boss you don’t agree with and do your best to be fair, and you’re still trying to set it all right. It’s been five years. He’s forgiven you. The only thing James is pissed about now is you not forgiving yourself.”
The sunlight streaming through the window shifts, casting half his face in shadow while highlighting the determined set ofhis jaw. He says it so matter of factly for a guy who just got caught in a lie.
“You don’t know that, Dodger.”
“That’s what I’d do,” he says.
