Maybe it was the grief making her bold, or maybe it was the fact she’d been through so much and was emotionally unstable. But Rachael heard the words unmistakably coming from her mouth.
“Swear on the life of your pack.”
Aaron lowered his hand, his expression dark.
“Rachael,” he began with eerie quiet. “You are one of the most remarkable girls I have ever met. You are amazing for even having the strength to face me after all the pain I have caused you.” He didn’t lean forward or even snarl, but something about him became frighteningly more foreboding. “And you are also one of the sweetest girls whose company I have had the pleasure to enjoy. So I will to chalk that demand up to grief and hope—pray—you never ask such an awful, horrific, selfish thing of me again.”
Her mouth opened and closed without sound. Anger, sorrow, and shame muddied into one confused emotion as she tried to reason how her family had come to deserve all this.
In kinder tones, Aaron reminded her, “Even if I wanted to swear on the pack, it would now include Jackson. I have made a promise to you. Do not allow such a request to nullify what must happen.”
Rachael could only nod.
Aaron reached out as though to brush her hair out of her eyes, and then appeared to think better of it. Instead he fixed his gaze out the windshield. “Goodbye, Ms. Adair.”
On cue, her door opened. She didn’t fight as Holden pulled her out of the car and began walking her back to the house. As she stood awkwardly at the front door, unsure of what to say, Holden decided to fill in the silence for her.
“Aaron isn’t good for much. But his word is. If he says he’ll bring Jackson back to you, it’ll happen.”
Rachael stared down at his feet. After a moment, she whispered, “I want to hate him. I mean, I definitely don’t like him, but I don’t . . . why don’t I hate him?”
A perplexed look flickered across Holden’s features. “I couldn’t say. I’ll always hate him.” He frowned, more in thought than anger. “That said . . . I brought you to him because he’s put all his energy toward Jackson this whole time. He hasn’t even slept.” A weak smile tugged Holden’s lips. “I would have had to half-carry him in if you hadn’t come out.”
All Rachael could manage was a stunned, “Oh.”
Holden shoved his hands into his pockets. His eyes were bleak as he observed her; for what, Rachael didn’t know. There was nothing else for her to say.
Then Holden turned on his heel and strode back to the car. The engine rumbled in protest when he started it. If either he or Aaron gave her a backward glance, the darkened windows hid it.
Drained, Rachael closed and dead-bolted the front door. The trek back to her room seemed too arduous, so she sought solace on the couch. As she stared blearily at the ceiling, Rachael realized everyone had a game plan except her. Aaron was looking after Jackson, her father was searching for a son he’d never find, and Holden appeared to be busy helping hold Aaron together.
She would allow herself a little more time to grieve. No more than a week. After that, she would have to pull together and make herself useful. As soon as she decided how, it would happen.
At least she had the week.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jackson’s sweatshirt was far too large for her. It was also thicker than any she owned, and three months after his disappearance still smelled like him. “I’ll get the mail, Daddy,” she called as she zipped the hoodie up over her T-shirt.
From the kitchen, her father grunted.
She didn’t need the extra material in May’s reasonably warm dusk, but she felt safer wearing her brother’s clothes all the same. Not an hour went by where she forgot to miss him horribly, and she felt awful for pretending not to know any more than her father did. Each day made it slightly easier to lie without bursting into tears.
In her slippers and sweatpants, Rachael navigated the brief driveway to the mailbox. A quick glance around the yard reflected their home’s emotional state; unkempt, untidy, and neglected. Shaking her head, Rachael grabbed the mail and began sifting through the envelopes. Always she held out hope for one with a familiar name in the left-hand corner, like Jackson or Holden or even Aaron Moreno.
Always she was disappointed.
Inside she left the mail on the dining room table. The entire surface was taken up by some form of paper or another, from bills to MISSING posters for Jackson to overdue bill notices from the hospital.
These days her father rarely told her to do her homework. Really, he didn’t speak to her at all unless it was to update her on the search for her brother, and those were becoming fewer and farther between already. Rachael remained unsurprised. Aaron had promised to hide Jackson until he was ready to return, and the man had centuries of experience over a police force with maybe a couple decades worth of investigation under their belts.
All the same, Rachael found it kept her busy to maintain her studies. In sharp contrast to her social life, her grades had dramatically improved since she had taken her final week to grieve. She’d made fourth seat in band class, did extra credit wherever it was offered just to fill in the quiet spaces of time at home and in school, and was even considering signing up for advanced classes next year.
So much for her fear of being held back a grade, she thought wryly. The marked improvements were too late to make a major difference in her grade point average, but at least her teachers were duly impressed. To her disappointment, her father barely noticed.
As for her friends, the slumber parties and visitations had ceased though, the girls remained by her side all the same. To Rachael their interactions felt perpetually cool. So far only Shawna had expressed displeasure, fortunately not enough to break the friendship. And yet each and every one held an irreparable fissure. Rachael wondered if it was the natural way of growing up.
If so, she hated it.
Rachael had just about finished her English paper that was due next week when something gave her pause. She looked up from her desk and frowned. She waited. Listened.
There it was—a soft whining noise that would have been completely imperceptible if she hadn’t left her bedroom window open. Rachael stood and looked outside, but it was too dark to make anything out immediately.
She tightened Jackson’s hoodie around her and padded downstairs again. Her father was nowhere to be found; either asleep or at work. With a shrug Rachael headed for the back sliding glass door. She flicked on the porch light before stepping out. A whisper of a breeze toyed with her hair as she gave the back yard a wary glance.
Her garden had died along with her mother. The sparse flowers left alive were due to the Northwest’s uncanny penchant for rain and intermittent sunshine more than Rachael’s personal efforts.
There. The whining was more distinct now, coming from a hedge between the back yard and neighborhood street. Rachael shifted so her feet were ready to turn and flee inside if necessary.
Slowly, as though aware of her caution, whatever was in the hedges inched its way out. First a shiny black nose, then a long and delicate snout, before a burst of bravery made the wolf reveal itself in its entirely. Sheer white fur kissed with the silver of a swollen moon—and those green-blue eyes flecked with gold that watched her with a mixture of fear and hope.
Rachael didn’t realize she had begun crying until the wolf whined again, a sad, concerned sound that only made her cry harder. Despite her tears Rachael stepped off the porch. She ran to the wolf, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around its shaggy head. The wolf leaned into her, almost like a human, and allowed her to sob her relief into the thick scruff of its neck. She couldn’t explain how she knew the reason he was back, why he was alone, how she understood Jackson was still lost to her for the time being, or even why she was so immensely happy to see the wolf after all the agony and heartache he and the lycans had caused her.
Holden had returned for her. No matter where life took her now—whether or not Jackson lived through his transformation, or her f
ather spiraled into the darkest depths of depression, or the fragile relationship amongst her friends shattered—her friend would be there.
The whys and hows no longer mattered. Holden was home.
Howl of the Sequoia (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 1) Page 22
