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After around twenty minutes of chatting—during which he explained he was a sophomore majoring in kinesiology and entertained me with funny stories of him being a mischievous boy in a very serious pack—my head stopped spinning, my legs’ trembles calmed down, and I felt strong enough to stand.
“You’re so kind, but I have to go home and check on my mom. I’d better get up and hope I can walk okay.”
“May I help you?” He was being so sweet—weren’t wolf shifters supposed to be dangerous?
“Please.” I wouldn’t refuse a hand.
Placing a careful palm on my shoulder, and the other into my armpit, which felt heavenly, to be honest, he lifted me to my feet effortlessly, showing no strain at all on his face. This guy was incredibly strong.
I took a few steps, slowly, waiting to see how my legs did. It was fine. Time to get home to my mom. “I’d better go. Thanks for everything.”
“It was my honor.”
What an adorable thing to say.
“Do you think you might give me a second chance? Next time, you and I partners, no Mandy, and no knock outs, I promise.” He pressed his palms together in a humble gesture.
“I’ll let the swelling in my jaw go down first, I think, but yes, I think I could be persuaded back.”
Especially if it meant I’d see more of his impressive body in action. I wasn’t going to try to kid myself about how much it appealed to me. I liked the look of his strong, controlled movements. A lot.
Smiling, he exhaled hard in relief. “I’m so glad about that.” He opened the door for me, gesturing for me to go first. “Oh, by the way, I think I should take your number, just so I can call and check up on you over the next few days.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
“I feel responsible.”
I gave him my number, seeing no harm in it. It was on the gym’s enrollment form anyway. And he seemed genuinely charming. Just like the boy next door I’d thought him to be even when I first saw him facing off with the vamp. I just hoped he wasn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I creaked open the front door to our shoebox apartment. The door hinges needed some oil. And the apartment at least a hundred extra square feet.
Mom was there on the couch, watching some medical drama on TV. She smiled when she saw me, and motioned to get up, grimacing.
Striding towards her, my legs now back to regular strength, I pushed her softly, encouraging her to sit back down. “Hey, keep resting.” I gave her a hug. “I’ll make us something. Do you want me to heat up some of that chicken broth, and maybe a grilled sandwich, with grilled veggies?”
She shrugged, smiling apologetically. “I’m not very hungry, to be honest, honey.”
“Did you at least drink the smoothie?”
“Yes, but I didn’t get to that chicken breast thing.”
I tutted and chided her mildly. “Mom, you know we had an agreement, remember? You have at least one solid meal per day, whether you feel like it or not”
Mom sighed and nodded. “Ok, honey. Make what’s easiest for you. I’ll eat what I can, I promise.”
I cooked. We ate sitting on the couch, me watching and encouraging her to get the nutrition even if her appetite was running low. She’d never had a lot of energy, from what I could remember as a young girl, but she’d been in a slow yet steady decline over the past few years. And despite many trips to various doctors, we had no diagnosis. Just a bunch of pills that did little to help her.
Then the past few months had seen her less and less disposed to eat regularly. She must have dropped at least seven or eight pounds in the past month alone, and she didn’t have much weight to spare in the first place. It was worrying. Hence my insistence on making sure she got a good meal daily. I’d tried for two, but she just couldn’t manage it.
Placing her half-full soup bowl down on her dinner tray, she turned the volume down on the TV, and shifted in her seat, facing me. “How was your first day?”
I conveniently left out the professor who may be humanphobic, the scary gang confrontation, getting punched out, and giving my number to a wolf shifter. “It was really nice, Mom. I think I’m going to do great. My teachers are excellent. I’m going to get my diploma, and get us out of this closet.”
The university supplied off campus housing for its janitorial staff. One bedroom per staff member only, so I slept on the couch to give my mom more space to move in her sleep. To be honest, we’d had worse accommodations, including a few trailer parks.
Mom chuckled and sighed, looking around at the drab furnishings, all crammed into a space about twenty times too small. “Yes, this place is so small, you have to go outside to change your sweater.”
“Sweater? You have to go outside just to change your mind,” I replied with a wry grin.
