by Tamar Sloan
Chapter Eleven
A Time to Talk
The following day is the day we head to Dad’s wolf carving. I don’t think fate could have planned it better. It’s time alone from our forever-bustling house. It’s the time Dad is most likely to talk. But although it feels like the stars have aligned, to say I’m nervous is an understatement.
I’m stepping way beyond the line that has defined me. A first-born yes. But a female one. Anxiety doesn’t know if it wants to break out in a sweat or just call the whole ludicrous idea off.
But this is important, and there’s one thing that Dad taught me. You’d do anything for your pack.
I’m just hoping he’ll see this the way I see it.
The walk in is silent, like it always is. It’s fine by me, all the words I want to say are crammed into my head, a spinning vortex that’s making me queasy. I know that I’m going to have to choose them carefully, pluck the ones that have the power to persuade, while never losing sight of how little power I have.
Once we arrive I take my place, sitting and watching. So much hangs on this, and not just a future with the one who now holds my heart. Today I discover what the Channons stand for…and I finally define my relationship with my father. Because if Dad says no, then the suspicions I can’t shake become true. If he says no, I become Adelle. A much loved member of his pack, who he’s willing to sacrifice for his ambitions. Ambitions I don’t want to be part of.
It doesn’t take me long to notice that things are different this time — Dad doesn’t talk. He focuses on the intricacies of his creation and nothing else. I’m not sure if fate is giving me the go ahead, or whether it’s a not-a-good-time sign.
Blue eyes, deepwater eyes, flash above a smile I haven’t seen in longer than is bearable. I need to know.
“Dad.”
Tap, tap, scrape.
I clear my throat. “Dad.” I know his Were hearing couldn’t have missed it the first time.
“I need to focus on this part, Tara.”
This is my opportunity to back down. To stop the words that could possibly lose more than I’ve already lost.
To maintain the status quo.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Tap, tap, scrape. “Fine.”
I’m not sure if this is easier with his back to me or not, but I’ve made my decision. “You were right…”
Tap, tap, scrape.
“Strength comes in numbers, in size. I think the Phelans —”
Dad’s hand comes up but he doesn’t turn around. “The Phelans aren’t who I thought they were. They don’t even have an Alpha heir.”
“But that could change.” Noah could change. “And they’re a well-respected pack, a strong ally. They’re someone we want to keep close.”
Dad resumes the tap, tap, scrape. It’s the signal that this conversation is going nowhere and is done. To continue would mean defying that unspoken communication.
I’m at the point of no return.
“I wish to bond with Mitch.”
At the words that hold no subtly whatsoever, that just slapped the silence rather than persuade, Dad spins to face me. He inflates, and I have to work on not shrinking back. “That’s what you want, Tara. Not what is best for the pack.”
I shake my head as I stand, needing him to understand. “A bonding between the Phelans and the Channons is nothing but advantageous.”
Dad is still frowning but silent, and I tell myself that’s a good sign.
“We form an alliance, the two biggest packs in Wyoming. Tensions dissolve, our strength is united.”
Dad still says nothing. Never before have I had an open mic. Never before have I wanted something so bad.
“The Channons will grow stronger.”
And I decide now is the time to be honest in a way I’ve never been before.
“Mitch paints my world with a color I’ve never seen before Dad, one that I didn’t know existed.” I hold his hazel gaze. “He paints my world with love.”
Surely Dad can see how much this means to me. Surely his first born daughter’s wishes are important to him.
Dad still doesn’t move, and his face is nowhere close to understanding. Actually, his low bushy brows and tense mouth are the polar opposite. Very slowly his eyes narrow. “You would defy me?”
My breath rattles out of my quaking chest. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. The way I see it, I’m not choosing one or the other. I’m choosing both.”
I don’t say it, but the way I see it…Mitch is my pack.
He turns back to the rock. Tap, tap, scrape.
I deflate, unable to process what losing this fight could look like in all the tomorrows that stretch out before me.
“You’re suggesting a bonding with the Phelans?”
“Yes.” I whisper, hope once again lodged in my throat.
“And you have dared to question me because of this…love for a Phelan.”
Even though it’s not a question I answer anyway. “Yes.”
Tap, tap, scrape.
It’s my turn to be silent. It’s time to hear my future being molded by Dad’s words.
Tap, tap…
I hold my breath as the seconds draw taught.
“Very well.”
Those two words are so unexpected, they take another handful of seconds to sink in. I still have to check. “What?”
Dad turns around, face thoughtful and serious. “A bonding with the Phelans would be…advantageous.”
As joy streaks through my veins I leap up and launch myself at Dad. There’s a low ‘oomph’ as I connect with his mammoth chest, my arms wrapping around his neck. His bristly beard tickles my forehead as I hug him as hard as I can.
“Dad, you have no idea…” I choke up as he awkwardly pats my back.
I pull back, knowing this is the most affection my Dad and I have exchanged since…I can ever remember. He steps back and my arms fall to my side, but there’s a flush beneath his bushy beard.
“Tara, don’t forget you are a firstborn and a Channon. Your responsibility is to your pack first.”
I can feel my toes dancing in my shoes. “Always, Dad. Always.”
“Good.” He grunts as he turns back to the rock, like that wasn’t some life changing conversation. Within seconds the air fills with tap, tap, scrape.
I know I’m supposed to sit and watch, but I can’t. I walk to the spot I usually sit then turn. Three steps to the left and I hit a tree and turn again. In no time the tap, tap, scrape counts out my pacing from the sitting spot to the tree.
It worked! He said yes! Although this is how I hoped it would turn out, I never let myself dream it could happen. The Channons and the Phelans as allies, woven together by the one thing that powers my heartbeat. My love for Mitch.
Mitch. The one I’ve hurt in a way I never thought I would. Would he even want this now?
“Tara. Go.”
I stop, realizing my pacing hasn’t gone unnoticed. Dad doesn’t turn around, but I can imagine the annoyed frown. But I’m happy to oblige because it’s an invite I’m not going to refuse. With a last turn I head in the direction of home.
“Thanks, Dad.”
The euphoria that just took a hit slowly dwindles during the walk home. Because I never thought Dad would even consider my heartfelt wish I never thought as far ahead as talking to Mitch. What will I say to him? Is it too late?
I realize as I walk that even though I know how much ketchup he has on his fries, even though I know the exact length his hair will get to before he has to have a haircut, even though I can read the eddies and tides of his deepwater eyes like I grew up by the sea…
After sharing my whole life with Mitch, I have no idea how he’s going to react.
