Lone Wolf

by Anna Martin

  “Holy shit.”

  His sister stood on the porch, not dressed for winter in Washington. At all. Her hair was soaked just from the run from her car to the porch.

  The rain had arrived, then.

  “Hey, little brother.”

  Jackson laughed as he pulled Valerie into a hug. She smelled like the cold and weirdly foreign. He rubbed his cheek against her hair instinctively.

  “What happened?” Jackson asked as he pulled her inside and shut the door behind them. “I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.”

  “I got a call from the airline to say the flight I was booked on was full, and they had a space on an earlier flight if I could get to the airport in time. I figured if Mom was planning a big surprise welcome-home party, being early would be better than a couple days late, which was my other option.”

  Valerie followed Jackson back through to the kitchen and helped herself to a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “So, tell me everything.” Jackson took a seat at the kitchen table and waited for Valerie to sit down opposite.

  When Valerie had announced she was taking a year off work to travel around the world in an attempt to find her soul mate, none of Jackson’s family had been surprised. In fact, they almost encouraged it. Valerie was a dreamer, a romantic, and it fit her personality to put her life on hold while she went out in search of a person made just for her.

  She’d left thirteen months ago. And had returned alone.

  As she caught him up on her adventures, Jackson paid more attention to the gaps between her words than the words themselves. There was a sadness in his sister’s eyes that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her, and his heart just ached.

  She pulled an iPad from her bag, full of bubbly joy and excitement to share stories and photos of all the places she’d visited. First South America—Brazil and Argentina and Peru—then New Zealand, Australia, Japan. India. Backpacking through Europe, what a cliché, before flying home from Scotland. Thirteen months of adventure, and she somehow still looked so sad.

  By the time she was done, Jackson’s stomach was growling again. It had only been a one-slice sandwich.

  “Not that I don’t want you to keep talking,” Jackson said, “but I’m starving. You know there’s nowhere to go eat around here, so what do you want to do?”

  Valerie rolled her eyes. “It’s your fault for living in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I like nowhere. And anyway, I can get pizza delivered if that’s what you want.”

  “Pizza and beer.” She grinned at him. “It’s good to be home.”

  THEY DEMOLISHED a large pizza between them and a six-pack of beer, and Jackson let Valerie pick the movie, since he was feeling generous. He found a tub of ice cream in the freezer too, one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He figured catching up with his sister for the first time in over a year was pretty special.

  “So, I have news,” he said, sitting down on the sofa next to Valerie and handing her the tub.

  “Thanks. I don’t know if I can share this.”

  “I met my mate.” Like ripping off a Band-Aid, right?

  “Motherfucker.”

  “He’s a man.”

  Valerie turned to him, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

  “A human man.”

  She silently passed him the tub of ice cream.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jackson mumbled, and dug his spoon into the goopy mess.

  “I’m going to need details, Jackson,” Valerie said seriously. She muted Bridget Jones—and holy shit, that should have been some big neon sign telling Jackson not to be an asshole—and shifted round to face him.

  Jackson found a little piece of fudge and excavated it from its ice cream enclosure.

  “I met him a few days ago. We just went out for coffee this morning.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  “His name is Leo. He’s just graduated college. He’s…. I’m…. I don’t know how to do this, Valerie,” Jackson said, passing her back the ice cream, then reaching for his beer instead. It was social lubrication of the most necessary kind.

  “Is this where you come out to me? Because I’m totally okay with that and will be so supportive and everything.”

  “I’m not gay.” He felt guilty saying it aloud. Like he was somehow dishonoring Leo, which was stupid. They only just met. It wasn’t like Jackson owed him anything. “I’m not bisexual either, before you ask.”

  “But….”

  “I don’t get it either. Leo is, I’m pretty sure of that. I haven’t slept since I met him, trying to figure it out. I’ve turned it over and over in my head, Valerie, and it’s just not there. At this point I almost wish I was gay. It would make things so much easier.”

  “Maybe it’s a platonic soul mate thing. It doesn’t have to be about sex. There are no rules.”

  “Valerie.” He ran his hand over his face, then gulped the rest of his beer. “Platonic mates is such bullshit.”

  She huffed. “At this point, I’d take it.”

  “Shit.” He knew this wasn’t going to go well… how could it? He got what his sister had always wanted, and now he was throwing it in her face.

  Valerie reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I love you, dude. I want amazing things for you. Of course I’m jealous,” she added with a little laugh. She finished the rest of her own beer, then held the empty bottle up expectantly.

  Jackson needed a break anyway, so he went to fetch another bottle from the fridge. It gave him breathing space. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted out of this conversation. To get the whole thing off his chest for one.

  “What are you going to do?” Valerie asked.

  On the screen, Bridget was contemplating blue soup and flirting with Mr. Darcy.

  “I have no idea. I mean, I don’t hate him. He seems like a nice person.”

  “Is he cute?”

  Jackson scowled. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, find me a picture of him. I need to know if he’s cute.”

  “Valerie. I don’t have any pictures of him.”

  “Tell me his name, then.” She reached under the sofa and pulled out her iPad. “I’ll Facebook stalk him.”

  “Don’t you dare.” He sighed. “Gallagher. Leo Gallagher.”

  “Leo… Gallagher… Leo Gallagher of Berklee College?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be him.”

  He turned back to the screen, feeling supremely uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  “He’s super cute,” Valerie said. “He looks young, though.”

  “Yeah, well. He’s only twenty-two.”

  “Huh. Are you attracted to him? In a ‘want to bone him’ type way?”

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped. “I’m not homophobic. I can objectively tell you that he’s an attractive man. Like I can objectively tell you Colin Firth is an attractive man. But I’m not sexually attracted to him.”

  “You’ve never been with a guy at all? Not even in an experimenting type way?”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “It wasn’t that kind of frat house.”

  She laughed at that, like he wanted her to.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Jacks. He looks like a nice guy. He’s cute.” She shrugged. “You said he’s human? Did he feel it too?”

  “I didn’t ask him,” Jackson admitted.

  “What else?”

  He huffed a laugh. Valerie had always been perceptive. Their mom said she’d inherited “the sense” from their grandmother, her mother, when she’d passed away. Jackson wasn’t so sure, except in times like these.

  “I don’t know how to explain it.” He swigged at his beer again. His third bottle was emptying rapidly. “However much this situation is confusing the hell out of me… there’s something there.”

  “Have you talked to anyone else?”

  Jackson snorted
. “No,” he mumbled. “Do you think Brandon will ever look for his soul mate?”

  Valerie sighed dramatically. “Jackson. Brandon is ace.”

  “Well, yeah. He’s our brother. He’s awesome.”

  “No, Jackson.” She shook her head. “Asexual.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You know what that means.”

  Jackson stared at her, dumbfounded. “Well, yeah. I just didn’t know it was a term that applied to Brandon.”

  “He’s never dated anyone.”

  “Because he’s our weird brother who doesn’t date.”

  Valerie smacked him upside the head.

  “Ow!”

  “He’s not weird.”

  “Yeah, he is. Not because of the asexual thing. But he’s my little brother. I get to call him weird.”

  She glared at him, but let it go. “He came out a while back.”

  “Not to me he didn’t.”

  “You were there!”

  “When?”

  “Oh fucking hell,” Valerie muttered. She’d finished the tub of ice cream a while ago but reached for it again, just to make sure.

  “Sorry. Sometimes I don’t always notice the significance of an occasion.”

  “You don’t say,” she drawled. “Anyway. You’ll have to ask him yourself about the mate thing. I have no idea how it works for asexual people.”

  “I’m sure that conversation will be just as enlightening as this one.”

  “Fuck off, Jackson.”

  She’d dropped in on him and he’d unleashed a bombshell, and they’d drank plenty of beer so far, so he wasn’t going to be offended. He reached for his bottle again and drained it.

  “Are you staying here tonight?” he asked.

  “Probably should.”

  “Okay. I’ll make the spare room up.”

  “Oh good,” Valerie said, unfolding herself from the couch. “Because there’s a bottle of pinot in the back of the car that’s got my name on it.”

  Jackson winced as she walked away. He was definitely going to have a headache in the morning.

  Chapter Four

  WHEN MITCH walked in the door, Leo was making margaritas.

  “Oh shit,” he drawled.

  “Yeah,” Leo said dully and pressed the button to whizz the ice into slush.

  Mitch delayered, draping a voluminous, diaphanous scarf over the antique hatstand he’d found in a dumpster, or so the story went.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s straight, Mitch,” Leo said. He turned back to the processor and decanted his margarita slush into two tall glasses that had already been rimmed with salt. A wedge of lime went into each before he passed one to Mitch and lifted his own in a toast.

  “Cheers,” Mitch said, accepting the glass and clinking it against Leo’s.

  “So very, very straight. Cheers.”

  The margarita provided a good hit of tequila right where Leo needed it.

  “Come tell Auntie Mitch what happened,” Mitch said. Leo followed him to the living room and slumped onto the sofa. He was wearing baggy pajama pants and an old tank, drinking alcohol at four on a Saturday afternoon. It was the height of desperation.

  “We went for coffee,” Leo said, then paused to slurp at his cocktail. “Fuck. Brain freeze.”

  Mitch laughed. “Coffee date?”

  “I’m not calling it a date. I wouldn’t dare. He’d probably have an aneurism.”

  “But he’s your soul mate,” Mitch said dramatically. “Your one. Your only. The one who was made just for you.”

  “He’s older than me. Plus, he’s the werewolf, so technically I was made for him.”

  “Ugh, even better. It’s so romantic.”

  “Actually, it’s a combination of biology, evolution, metaphysics, and astrology, if I’m being an asshole about it.”

  “Don’t ruin it for me. I’m probably one of those people who will never find mine. I just know it. I can feel it in my waters.”

  Leo snorted with laughter. “And fate. Which, you know, people think is actually just a blanket term for all of the above.” He slurped again. “But why?” he moaned. “Why do I have to put up with this straight frat bro bullshit? Am I a bad person? Do I deserve this?”

  “Leo, you’re practically saintly,” Mitch said. “You work with sick kids, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Why him, then? Why not some nice, simple guy who I could immediately click with and we could start planning our lives together?”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. Leo caught the gesture and scowled at him.

  “What?” Leo demanded.

  “You’d never be satisfied with that.”

  “With what?”

  “A nice, easy life,” Mitch said. “That’s what you think you want. But you’re wrong.”

  “I am?”

  “You are,” he said sagely. “You’d be so bored with that. You don’t want some bullshit heteronormative husband, two kids, and a Labrador scenario.”

  “I do,” Leo insisted. He downed the rest of the margarita and wondered how long he’d wait before making another one. Probably not long. “I really do. Not yet, though. In ten years’ time, maybe, when I’m all set up in my career and things are awesome and I’m ready for babies.”

  “He’s yours for a reason, babe. Maybe you found him too soon. Especially if you just ran straight into him. Maybe you were supposed to wait a few more years until he grew out of the dude-bro phase and accepted his bisexuality. He’s a wolf, so he’s stubborn.”

  Leo laughed at that. “Is that so?”

  “Pssh. It’s a stereotype for a reason.”

  “I don’t think he is, though,” Leo insisted. “I really don’t think he is even a little bit bi. I think—as far as he’s concerned—he’s one hundred percent straight. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Convince him otherwise,” Mitch said with a sly smile.

  Leo groaned and tipped his head back. “I don’t know if I have the energy for that.”

  “Come work with me tonight.”

  “No.”

  “Leonardo.”

  “Mitchell.” Leo scowled. “Not right now.”

  “This is exactly the sort of thing you need. Look, go take a nap. I’ll wake you up in a couple hours. That gives you plenty of time to take a shower and wax your bikini line.”

  “I’m a professional,” Leo insisted. “I can’t be seen cage dancing by any one of my patients’ family. I could be fired.”

  “Which is why tonight is so perfect,” Mitch said. He hauled himself out of his chair, grabbed his satchel, and pulled two masks from it. “Tonight is superhero night at Flair. All the dancers are wearing masks. I’m being Spider-Man because, hello, Peter Parker is the cutest twink of them all.”

  He had shiny metallic booty shorts with a spiderweb pattern that matched the red-and-white eye mask. He also had a pair of leather shorts with studs on the ass and a black Batman mask.

  “You can be Batman. We can comb some of that wash-out stuff through your hair to make it darker,” Mitch continued. “It’ll look good on you.”

  “I’m not the Batman type,” Leo said, even though he could feel himself starting to crack. And if he was cracking, Mitch was noticing. That was just how Mitch worked. “Batman is… butch.”

  “Bitch, please.” Mitch sighed and dug further into his bag. “Ooh, I have Green Lantern? You could rock that.”

  “Green Lantern sucks.” Leo knew he was sulking now.

  “Do not test my patience, child. Fine, I’m putting Brad in Batman because, holy pecs, Batman.” He giggled at his own joke. “How about Hawkeye? You look good in purple.”

  Leo sniffed. “I do look good in purple.”

  “And I still have that cupid bow and arrow set from Valentine’s,” Mitch said, snapping his fingers at Leo. “Perfect.”

  “Fine,” Leo said and hauled himself to his feet. “But I’m taking my nap first.”

  LEO WASN’T entirely su
re how Mitch earned his money. He seemed to do anything between two and five jobs, depending on the season, and Leo was pretty sure at least one of those jobs was in the sex work industry. Mitch had never said so directly, but Leo was smart, and he took hints pretty well.

  At first, he wasn’t sure if he was weirded out by the fact that his housemate was a sex worker. He tried to be a body-positive person who didn’t slut shame anyone for the sex they enjoyed. The reality was he worried, a lot, that Mitch was being exploited. There were a lot of nights when Mitch didn’t come home, and a lot more when he came home looking worse for wear. He had a tendency to attract seedy boyfriends and men who liked to use him, then toss him aside. As his friend, Leo tried to be there for him and pick up the pieces. If there was one werewolf trait Mitch embodied, it was that he could be a stubborn ass and hated accepting help.

  One of the jobs that was definitely legit, and Mitch seemed to enjoy, was the club work. Mitch danced on podiums or stages at gay clubs, a gay strip club, and one werewolf exclusive club. Leo didn’t ask what happened in those clubs. He’d barely known they existed before he met Mitch, and from the few things Mitch told him, he didn’t want to know what happened inside.

  When Mitch wasn’t dancing, he organized the dancers for the clubs, helped set up theme nights, and put everyone in the right costumes. When Leo had first moved back to Spokane after college, he was working on paying off his student debts, and the idea of earning a hundred dollars or more in one night was hella tempting.

  He’d done it a few times and enjoyed every minute of it, but his day job was incredibly hectic, and he often found he didn’t have time to even go to clubs for fun, let alone to work.

  Mitch still pulled him in from time to time, and Leo knew he looked different enough when he was dancing that it was almost impossible that anyone from the hospital would ever recognize him. The last club night he’d danced at was Heaven-and-Hell themed, and Mitch had made him up as a devil, spiking his hair and adding red to it, giving him horns and enough makeup that Leo barely recognized himself in the mirror.