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It was true; he had never stayed with Jackson before, had never stayed withanyof the rest of them before. Owen had halfheartedly offered the spare bedroom of the condo he shared with his girlfriend when they had spoken a few weeks prior, after it became evident that Lowell was going to have no choice about coming back to Cambric Creek, and while he appreciated the sentiment, the thought of being trapped in such a small space with two other adults for an indeterminate amount of time made him slightly nauseous.
Moving back into the home he’d grown up in was not an option. His mother claimed to understand his wanderlust, his need to always be on the move and feel the earth moving beneath his feet, but previous visits had shown him that it wouldn’t take long for her to start making noise about howniceit was having him home, having all her boys within arm’s reach, and did he know the paper in Bridgeton was always looking for photographers?
He’d grit his teeth, reminding her that he’d won international awards for his work photographing the civilian toll of the Rakshasa uprisings and for the results of him having gone to live with a closed community of selkies in upper Norway, but his point always fell on deaf ears.
His visit the previous Christmas had yielded a surprise dinner guest, one he hadn't realized until mid-way through the hot hors d'oeuvres was meant to be a potential date for him.
"She's a real estate agent right here in town, darling!" his mother had exclaimed, laying her hands on the beaming she-wolf's shoulders as Trapp snorted from across the table, his human girlfriend shooting Lowell an understanding, stricken look. Lowell knew his mother well enough to see through her strategy: a hand-picked mate from a respectable werewolf family who could find him a house right in the neighborhood.
He'd given the girl his most genial smile and had been as charming as he could the rest of the evening, booking a red-eye back to Tokyo two nights later, ending his visit three days early, calling his mother's bluff without a moment of compunction. Being the only Hemming in two generations to have left Cambric Creek carried a certain measure of guilt, but he was a pro at maneuvering his mother's traps at that point. She claimed to understand, but Lowell knew better. He loved his mother with his entire heart but being subjected to the non-stop barrage of insinuations that he needed to find a job in the unification, preferably one in their state and within walking distance of her street, would drive him crazy.
Jackson, on the other hand, had offered up his home. They’d put on an addition, he’d told Lowell, with his mother-in-law in mind. It wasn’t much, a one bedroom, one bathroom suite, but it had its own entrance and a small kitchenette, providing him with a measure of freedom while he was there. Jackson’s little boy was nearly school-aged, and the last time Lowell had been in town for any length of time, the kid had been little more than a toddler, and it would be nice getting to play fun uncle through more than the occasional video call. He was confidenthewould be the fun uncle. Grayson was undoubtedly the mean uncle, Trapp the impatient uncle. Owen was a twitch too uptight to be the fun one, and he was pretty sure the comedic nuances of internet memes would be lost on a four-year-old, leaving Liam out of the running. That left him, and he was eager to fill the part.
He wasn’t going to apologize to Grayson when Jackson had offered, when Jackson had gone out of his way to call Lowell to do so. It didn’t matter that he always stayed with Gray, that he had a key to his brother’s home on the fob with all of the keys to his gear cases, clearly didn’t matter what the previous arrangement had been when he’d been left to rot at the airport — Jackson had reached out first, and Grayson could die mad about it.
The Welcome to Cambric Creek sign loomed ahead, and his stomach tightened with nerves and memories and the shadow of his former self and life he’d cast off. It was only once they’d crossed over the first waterfall that the thought occurred to him, and once it entered his mind, he knew it was correct.
“Did-did Jackson only offer me a place to stay because he knew it would piss off Gray?”
Trapp smiled grimly.
“You’ve been gone for too long if you even need to ask, kiddo.”
The radio on the dashboard crackled to life as they turned into the gated development where his brother lived, Trapp responding in a clipped voice that he would attend to the non-emergency call. Lowell struggled with his luggage, hoping none of the camera cases would roll into the street as he hauled himself up into the flatbed for the last of it.
“Thank you,” he repeated mournfully from the curb as Trapp leaned out the open window. “I appreciate you leaving work so I didn’t die of starvation.”
Trapp rolled his eyes, sighing.
“Look, he won’t be mad forever, okay? Get back on speaking terms. That’s on you. He won’t budge first, you should know that. He and I do dinner together at least once a week, you can tag along, okay? It’ll be just like old times.” Trapp smiled down wryly. “This pandemic isn't going to last forever either. You’ll be leaving us all in your rearview again before you even get unpacked. Go get some food before you pass you out, I’ll talk to you later.”
Lowell watched as Trapp pulled away; the truck’s brake lights flaring to life at the corner, turning off the street and leaving him alone. Jackson’s house looked as deserted as the airport, he realized, the weight of Grayson’s key suddenly seeming like a ten-pound stone in his gear bag.
The front door was locked, as were the side and back doors, and he could find no decoy rock mixed into the garden. Nothing had been left for him, no plans made for him, and they were at something called goldfish class, he remembered. At least at the airport, he thought, corralling his luggage at the top of the driveway and strapping the cases together once more, the Mr. Toasty stand might be open by now.
* * *
Chapter 1
Moriah
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MORIAH WAS FAMILIARwith Azathé tea room.
