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Joe’s fine. Ran into some trouble. He’s sleeping it off. He didn’t want you to worry.
That night I dreamed of a brown wolf with its nose pressed against my chin.
A PHONE rang while we were in Alaska.
We stared down at it, unsure of what do to. It’d been four months since we left Green Creek behind, and we were no closer to Richard than we’d been before.
Joe swallowed thickly as he picked up the burner phone off the desk of yet another nameless motel in the middle of nowhere.
I thought he was going to ignore it.
Instead he connected the call.
We all heard it. Every word.
“You fucking asshole,” Ox said, and I wanted nothing more than to see his face. “You don’t get to do that to me! You hear me? You don’t. Do you even fucking care about us? Do you? If you do, if even a part of you cares about me—about us—then you need to ask yourself if this is worth it. If what you’re doing is worth it. Your family needs you. I fucking need you.”
None of us spoke.
“You asshole. You bastard.”
Joe put the phone on the edge of the bed and sank to his knees. He put his chin on the bed, staring at the phone as Ox breathed.
Kelly eventually sat next to him.
Carter did too, all of them staring at the phone, listening to the sounds of home.
WE DROVE along a dusty back road, flat green fields stretching out all around us. Kelly was behind the wheel. Carter was in the seat next to him, window rolled down, feet propped up on the dash. Joe was in the back with me, hand hanging out of the SUV, wind blowing between his fingers. Music played low on the radio.
No one had spoken in hours.
We didn’t know where we were going.
It didn’t matter.
I thought of running my fingers over a shaved head, thumbs tracing eyebrows and the shell of an ear. The low rumble of a predatory growl building in a strong chest. The way a tiny stone statue felt in my hand for the first time, the heft of it surprising.
Carter made a low noise and reached to turn up the radio. He grinned at his brother. Kelly rolled his eyes, but he had a quiet smile on his face.
The road stretched on.
Carter started singing first. He was off-key and brash, loud when he didn’t need to be, getting more words wrong than right.
He was alone for the first stanza.
Kelly joined in at the refrain. His voice was sweet and warm, stronger than I would have expected. The song was older than they were. It had to come from their mother. I remembered being young, watching her flip through her record collection. She’d smiled at me peeking around the corner in the pack house. She’d beckoned me over, and when I stood by her side, she touched my shoulder briefly and said, “I love music. Sometimes it can say the things you can’t find the words for.”
I looked over at Joe.
He was staring at his brothers in awe, looking more alive than I’d seen him in weeks.
Carter glanced back at him. He grinned. “You know the words. Come on. You got this.”
I thought Joe would refuse. I thought he’d go back to staring out the window.
Instead he sang with his brothers.
It was quiet at first, a little wobbly. But as the song went on, he got louder and louder. They all did until they were shouting at each other, sounding happier than they’d been since the monster from their childhood had reared his head and taken their father from them.
