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Yay.
I head upstairs and shower. While I go through the motions of cleaning myself, I think of the look on my wife’s face as she greedily sucked another man’s cock and wonder why she chose to cheat on me and not just leave.
The answer is obvious of course. As I said, she’s a good mother. She doesn’t want to hurt the kids.
She won’t turn them against me. I realize that now. I don’t think she gives the tiniest shit about my feelings, but she knows the kids love me and she won’t destroy my relationship with them. That’s good but it also means another six months living in the same house with her that I have to try to perpetuate the lie that everything is fine, and I know nothing about her infidelity and as indifferent as I am now to the fact that she’s fucking another man, I don’t know how I’ll feel about it tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.
I finish showering and towel off, then look at myself in the mirror. I still recognize the face that stares back at me, but everything just seems a little worn. My features are still strong but there are lines in my eyes and my forehead that weren’t there before. My eyes are still alert, but they are softer than they used to be. I still have the trim, powerful figure I’ve enjoyed since high school but the skin is a little rougher and it might just be my exhaustion, but my shoulders seem to stoop a little more than normal.
My friend Zeke likes to say that aging is like driving with a slow leak. The difference is so gradual that you don’t notice anything’s wrong at first and when the little light on your dashboard lights up, you don’t believe it until you try to swerve or accelerate hard and your tire picks that moment to explode.
I have to disagree with him there. I notice the small changes. I can see the four or five extra grays and notice that there is now more gray than brown in my hair. I know if I shift, my wolf form will retain its shaggy grey-brown coat, but I also know there will be more white on my snout than gray or brown.
I actually do consider shifting briefly. Maybe a run will make me feel better. It always has in the past.
I decide not to because I’ve already showered and don’t want to have to shower again. Besides, a run might make me feel better in the moment, but it won’t change anything. My wife will still be underneath her boss or maybe between his legs again. My kids will remain blissfully unaware of their mother’s infidelity and my depression at the failure of my marriage. I’ll still be aging, a little more each day but never a little less.
I am pulled from my thoughts by a loud scream coming from the neighbor’s house. My wolf instincts kick in and I am outside and sprinting next door—still in human form—before I’m entirely aware of what’s happening.
Then my human cognition kicks in and I quickly assess the situation. The scream is coming from a teenage girl lying on the ground underneath an open second-floor window and holding her ankle. I hear a car engine rev and see an obnoxious-looking sports car speed down the street and skid around the corner.
Then I see the most beautiful woman on Earth rush from the front door toward the prone girl.
CHAPTER THREE
Klarice
The first scream rips me from sleep but ends before I can be sure I heard it and didn’t dream it. I lie still, listening intently and hoping I’m only hearing things and I can drift back to sleep.
The second scream definitely is not a dream.
I jump out of bed and sprint to Annie’s room, calling her name in rising panic. “Annie? Annie!”
I throw the door open and see her empty bed with the covers rumpled on the floor and the open window behind.
Then I hear the car engine rev.
Oh God, no.
Images of Annie being thrown into the trunk of a car and spirited off into some trafficking ring reel through my head and it’s a miracle that I make it down the stairs without tripping or falling head over heels to the first floor. I make it out the door just as a car—some garish, unnecessarily loud muscle car—careens around the corner and disappears.
My heart sinks to the floor and my knees go weak.
Then I hear the scream again from the side of the house.
My fear doesn’t disappear, but it does diminish considerably as I rush around the corner and see Annie grimacing underneath her bedroom window, clutching her ankle.
I kneel beside her and say, “Where does it hurt?”
“Where the fuck do you think?” she shouts at me through gritted teeth and eyes filled with tears.
I decide to let the swear word pass. There will be time to talk about punishment later. For now, I need to find some way to get her into the house and figure out if this is a hospital emergency or ibuprofen and a bag of frozen peas emergency.
“I’ll carry her inside,” says a deeply melodic voice that sounds like silk and leather at the same time.
I turn and stare, speechless, at the dream man.
He’s so perfect, that I actually wonder for a moment if I’m still dreaming. Then Annie moans and I decide that no, unfortunately, my niece really did fall from the window trying to sneak out with older boys and injured her ankle in an as-yet-undetermined way.
