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“I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Oscar
Itfeelskindofcrazy to be showing a little kid how to play pool in the room where I used to drink until I passed out. It’s even more insane how quickly the clock is running out on my time here.
A couple of short hours and I’ll be stripped of my bonds and taken away by strangers.
It feels like I’m waiting around to be kidnapped.
Maybe I should be packing a bag.
Nope. Not gonna happen.
If I’m leaving, I’m taking nothing with me. I won’t be the same version of me in another place. Without my mate and my fated pack, I don’t know who I am, but I know I’ll be wallowing in misery, no matter what the conditions are.
I deserve to feel that way for what I did. I may not remember it, but that girl’s family will never forget. Alyssa Morgan. I want to remember her name. It’ll remind me what all of this is for.
“Oscar,” Leo says. “Can I really not pot the black ball?”
I smile at him. “If you want to win, you need to avoid that ball until all the others with the stripes are gone. Then you go for that one until you get it.”
“Oh. Okay.” He moves around the table, looking for another ball he can hit.
Eventually, he finds one. It’s going to take longer to pot it, but he’s figuring out the rules, learning how to play. He’ll get it. He’s smart. He just needs to practice.
The jukebox finishes the playlist he punched in before we started playing. He looks at me with wide eyes, and I take his pool cue and set it on the table.
“Go pick some new songs.”
He darts back to the jukebox and takes his time choosing.
“Leo, stop playing with that,” his mother says, making him pause. “We’re guests here.”
His little shoulders droop. He hasn’t picked another song yet.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “He has better taste in music than some of the people who live here.”
I give Everett and Noah meaningful looks and they roll their eyes in tandem.
“Can I, Mommy?” Leo asks.
“If Oscar says it’s okay, it’s okay.”
He smiles. “Oscar says it’s okay.”
Music starts to play about three seconds later. The Macarena. I might have judged his musical taste too soon, but then again, it is catchy as hell. His mom groans.
He taps in a few more choices quickly before he starts doing the dance.
“His gran taught him that dance before she passed,” Georgia says. “He loves learning dances.”
“I’m impressed,” I tell her. “I can’t do it half as well as that.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
