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Could I?
I wanted to line my troubles up along the porch steps like army men, then knock them over one by one.
Instead, I built a ramp.
“You think it’ll hold?” Felicity asked from where she was leaning against the frame of the front door. She was still in her nightgown. Her hair was bound back in a wilting ponytail, tangled around its tie and half loose in front. The heat and humidity had turned her auburn waves into thin, damp curls around her face. The bags under her eyes were as deep as the ones beneath my own.
Somehow, the hollowed cheeks and bloodshot eyes only enhanced her features. That she could still be so beautiful when she was in so much pain—it hurt my heart.
“It ain’t pretty, but it’ll hold,” I confirmed, putting the drill down and standing back to admire my work. It was a long ramp for a short set of steps, but without it, Kingston wouldn’t be able to get inside on his own. “Kind of fucked up, now that I think about it.”
“What is?”
“How many places aren’t, ya know, wheelchair accessible.” If Kingston took his meds and dedicated himself to recovery, he’d be on crutches soon enough, then a prosthetic, if he could find the patience to learn how to use one. But the lodge hadn’t been built with accessibility in mind. Not a lot of places had.
“Kingston will appreciate it.”
“He won’t.” At least, not in any way he’d admit. “But with a couple of trips to the hardware store and a little more time, I can build this in properly.” I nodded, already imagining how I could make the ramp look intentional, recraft it with nicer wood and stain it to match the steps. “We’ll need it for the strollers.”
“The strollers. Right.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Are you sure about this?”
“If it can hold my weight, it’ll hold anything else we throw at it. And if Kingston tries to tear it apart because he’d rather crawl up the stairs than accept mobility assistance… Well, it’d keep him busy for a while.”
“Xander…” Felicity shook her head. “I mean about Carter’s Creek. Your plan.”
“Oh.”
Of course, that was what she meant. I’d been up half the night, staring at the ceiling, charting and recharting that course, questioning whether it was the right one.
Today, we’d put it into action either way. No more chasing cold trails. No more relying on the police. If we couldn’t find a way to track the boys down, we’d have to make one. And we would.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Yeah, I am.”
“You think it’s gonna work?”
“It has to, Cheeks.” I wanted to go to her, take her in my arms, kiss her hard and deep like a promise only our lips could seal.
But I knew better than that. A kiss wouldn’t be enough. Only results could fix this now.
* * *
We made up the den for Kingston. Unfortunately, I couldn’t build an elevator in one morning, and all the rooms at the lodge were upstairs. While Felicity fluffed pillows, and I smoothed a fresh sheet over the unfolded mattress of the pull-out couch, the pack elders arrived.
We greeted them on the porch, accepting their hugs and pitying looks. It was just as uncomfortable as I’d expected, even though I knew they were coming from a heartfelt place.
“We’re so sorry,” Sylvia Abner cooed, smoothing a hand down Felicity’s shoulder blades. Felicity stiffened at the touch like she wanted to bolt but held her ground. She had just as hard of a time at accepting sympathy as I did, I’d realized. Perhaps it was even harder for her. I’d known these people for as long as I could remember. Felicity was still new to having so many people around her who cared.
“We’re more than sorry.” Ambrose Reed shook my hand with a death grip and a fierce scowl. “We’re pissed as all hell.”
“What’re we doing about it?” Connell asked, hands in his pockets. He nodded but didn’t swoop in to touch us. It was a kindness I didn’t know how to thank him for.
“Well, for starters—” I began, but my words were cut off by the sound of a vehicle approaching. I turned my head to find Dylan’s truck speeding down the drive. “Shit. Gimme a second.”
I jogged down the porch steps as Dylan pulled up. The wheels flung gravel until the truck lurched to an abrupt stop. Through the front windshield, I could see that he and Kingston were arguing. I could hear it, too. The closer I got, the louder their shouts became.
“You wanna do it yourself, huh?” Dylan shouted at Kingston as he threw the driver’s side door open. He hopped down, brow knitted, lips snarling. “Don’t need my help? Okay, buddy! Go ahead! Go for it! See if I care.”
“What’s going on?” I asked as Dylan trudged toward me.
