Courtney drops her arm so Roderick’s can claim the spot. Feeling possessive, I wrap an arm around his waist as we head toward the kitchen.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Monica’s face.
She looks … sad.
Damn. It would’ve been so much easier to dislike her if she’d glared at me the way Janeen used to.
But I can’t help feeling pity for the woman. Still, I hope I never have to join her in the misery that is having had Roderick Jameson and then losing him.
40
RODERICK
“Can I talk to you?In private?” Monica stares up at me with blue-gray eyes I used to get lost in.
Before responding, I glance toward the backyard. I’ve been sipping my beer on the porch, watching Juliet and Courtney play against Warner and Isaac in a game of cornhole. The cool evening has everyone bundling up. Juliet took her heels off and borrowed a pair of Tanya’s sneakers. I also found one of my old high-school sweatshirts in the closet of my childhood bedroom. The thing swallows my woman and has me feeling all kinds of possessive.
My plan is to have her keep it and wear it without anything on underneath.
Seeing that Juliet is still having a fun time with my family, I nod to Monica and follow her back in the house.
My family’s farmhouse is a decent size, but with multiple werewolves on the property, true privacy is basically impossible. Not that I mind. I’m not particularly interested in talking alone to Monica.
And it’s not because I still have feelings for her and seeing her hurts. The second she walked into the dining room earlier, I realized that whatever love I’d had for her is a memory now. Nothing more.
My lack of interest stems from wanting to be back outside with Juliet and my family, hearing their laughter, watching her fit seamlessly into the smaller pack of my loved ones.
She is ours,my wolf announces.
Agreed.
When Monica stops in the front sitting room, the one room in the house Mom always kept looking neat and orderly, I realize how the discomfort of this conversation will likely match the lack of comfort I’ve had in this space. It’s a show kind of room. The place where Mom would have visitors she didn’t like come to sit down.
We don’t sit.
Monica faces me, a small, hopeful curve to the corner of her mouth. “I’ve always liked this room. The wallpaper is pretty.”
The wallpaper is roses with prominent thorns.
“Hmm,” is my only response.
“I remember sitting in here with your mom sometimes. Is she all right? I haven’t seen her today.”
Yet another reason I wanted to spend this holiday with people close enough to me to know pack business. People who wouldn’t bring up this achingly sore topic.
“She’s just out of town. Visiting other relatives.”
At least, I like to think that’s what she’s doing. Rebecca Jameson hasn’t contacted either of her older sons since her exile. Warner and I only know what’s going on when Tanya or Isaac gets a call and relates the news to us.
Mom has aunts and cousins in Texas, and my hope is that she’s gone there. That she’s spending today with some kind of family.
“Oh. That’s too bad. It would’ve been nice to see her,” Monica says.
Probably better that they didn’t cross paths, especially with how my mother’s exile came about.
“I’ll tell her you said hello.”
Monica doesn’t immediately start talking, instead fiddling with a book on the shelf.The Art of Warby Sun Tzu.
