by T. S. Joyce
Alyssa slowed, utterly baffled. “What do you mean?”
Creed licked his bottom lip and twitched his head to the side. “Clinton came to Grayland Mobile Park yesterday morning. And that might not seem like a big deal, but he left us badly. Just ran, and we were pissed and hurt that he’d gone to the Boarlanders. He hasn’t visited the park since he left. But yesterday he came and called a meeting, and…” Creed shook his head and jacked up his dark eyebrows under his baseball cap. “Well, Clinton apologized and said he was real happy for all of us and the mates we’ve found. He said he was proud of us.”
Alyssa pursed her lips against her emotions. That was a really big deal for Clinton to own his time with the Gray Backs and to come clean with the guilt he carried leaving like he did. She’d known he had wanted to make amends, but hearing about it from Creed was different. It meant so much that the Gray Backs appreciated the monumental effort it took Clinton to build up to going back there.
“Anyway, I know you have something to do with him being okay now.” Creed bumped her shoulder gently and lowered his voice. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re saving him, and that means the world to me. If you ever need anything, you come to me. I owe you.”
Alyssa smiled emotionally up at him. “He’s the one saving me,” she squeaked out past her tightening vocal cords.
Creed chuckled and waited for her to pass another tight spot between cars before he followed. “And also, it’s pretty badass what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“Clinton has shown everyone in Damon’s mountains that scar on his shoulder. Looks a helluva lot like a claiming mark to me.”
“Oh God, he’s going to get me arrested.”
“Alyssa, the criminal.”
“Quit it,” she muttered.
Creed nodded to the lady at the ticket booth. “She’s a Boarlander.”
And now the butterflies were back. She’d never been called a Boarlander before, but damn, it felt good.
The attendant offered Alyssa a genuine smile, handed her a free drink ticket, and waved her on through without collecting her fifteen dollars.
“Thank you!” Alyssa told her, adjusting the box in her arms. “Wow,” she said to Creed as they made their way down a long, crowded row of food vendors in colorful tents. “I feel VIP.”
He snorted. “Yeah, you can’t marry the man you love, your mark on him is illegal as hell, and you can’t officially register to your crew, but you get into the Lumberjack Wars for free. You’re so lucky.”
“Ha! Stop it. I am lucky.” The luckiest, actually. And if this vote passed, she would be able to do all those things with Clinton someday.
She could tell where the shifters were signing their sexy calendars from all the news cameras. Harrison was standing with a reporter, looking laid back with an easy smile on his face as he talked with her. Beck The Miracle Worker had been training them all in the art of charming the masses, and at this point, all the Boarlanders were comfortable in front of news cameras except for Clinton, highlighted by the fact that, at the moment, he was pelvic thrusting in the background of Harrison’s interview.
She followed Creed through the thick lines that led to the long table where Bash, Kirk, and Damon were sitting. They wore big grins, like they were actually enjoying themselves as they talked with people and signed their pictures on the calendars Beck had organized a couple months ago.
Alyssa had already bought one and had it pinned on the wall of 1010. Clinton was fine as hell, standing in front of his truck, smoke billowing from the chainsaw he held up in the air, his chin lifted, eyes fierce, abs ridiculously sexy, and his holey jeans riding low, giving just a peek at that trail of blond hair that led under his pants. All the months were super sexy, but Mr. January was her favorite by a lot.
“Clinton,” she said at normal volume. She was used to his sensitive hearing now.
He stopped pelvic thrusting and jerked his wild, silver gaze to her. An instant smile took his face, a big one. She lived for those.
She set the box on the table near Beck and turned in time to catch him as he barreled down on her. He picked her up off the ground and nuzzled her neck until it tickled and she laughed and swatted his shoulder. “I heard you’ve been a little terror.”
“Please. I’ve been good all morning.”
“Disagree,” Beck said through a narrow-eyed glare for Clinton. Her red-gold curls bounced as she swung her attention to Alyssa. “I’m really glad you’re here. He behaves better with you around, and I swear to God Clinton, if you stick that middle finger up at me again, I’m gonna claw it off.” Indeed, Beck’s eyes were bright gold. Her snowy owl was likely good and done with wrangling Clinton today.
“I have a surprise for you,” she told Clinton as he settled her on her feet.
“Is it a blow job?” He began frantically looking around at the surrounding tents like he was searching for a private hidey hole for them.
“No! Look.” Alyssa lifted the hem of her jeans and showed him the brand new pair of knee-high yellow gym socks she’d put on this morning. “For luck.”
Clinton spread his arms wide and took a few steps back, nodding his head like she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Slowly, he bent and lifted the leg of his jeans and, sure enough, he had his favorite pair of socks on, too. Alyssa threw her arms around her stomach with her laughter.
“Clinton!” Beck barked out. She held a clipboard and jammed her pen at the chair on the end.
Indeed, the line on that one was backed up and ridiculously long, and people looked impatient.
“I have more surprises, but you have to put in your shift here and stop drawing penises on these nice peoples’ calendars.”
Clinton snarled up his lip and muttered, “Fine.”
“One,” she said, following him to his seat, “I’m down for a BJ tonight if you make Beck’s job easy today. She’s been fighting morning sickness, and she’s stressed. You really will get clawed if you don’t stop pestering her.”
“BJ, yes.” Clinton nodded and signed a calendar for a woman totally excited, bouncing on her toes as she waited. Was that seriously all he’d heard?
“Two, I quit my job at the diner back home today.”
Clinton jerked his attention over his shoulder at her, his blond brows raised high. “Really?”
“Yep, because I landed that management position at Moosey’s,” she blurted excitedly. “Angie put in a good word, and I got the call back from Joey Dorsey today! I nailed the interview.”
“Babe!” Clinton whooped. “I fucking knew you nailed it.” He turned to the crowd. “She nailed it!”
A few confused women in the line gave her a slow clap, and with a chuckle, Alyssa began to organize the lopsided stacks of calendars around Clinton’s cluttered station. Beck handed her a metal box, so she started taking the money and making change for Bash and Clinton’s lines. Beck’s eyes were finally softening to her human green color.
Mason strode through the crowd, Air-Ryder on his shoulders licking a red snow cone and grinning. “Ask your momma,” Mason told him.
“Ask me what?” Beck sounded instantly happier.
“There’s a log throwing event just for kids, and Mason said I could do it if you said it was okay.”
“Well, when is it?”
“In just a few minutes,” Mason said. “They said shifter kids could participate. I already asked.”
When Beck tossed Alyssa a pleading look, she laughed. “Go on, watch your boy. I’ll handle things here until you get back.”
Beck hugged her shoulders and upped her voice to an uncomfortable octave. “Thank you, thank you! I’ll be back right after it’s through, I swear.”
From where he was signing calendars, Bash pointed in the general direction of Alyssa’s tits. “I like your shirt!” He turned his torso and showed Alyssa his own yellow Team Clinton shirt, and she laughed. The rest of the boys were wearing their own team shirts or Boarlander Bears shirts, but Bash was apparen
tly throwing his support in for his ninth best friend.
And when she looked back to Clinton, he was watching the curve of her lips with the softest expression in his eyes. Going all emotional, she hugged his shoulders and rested her cheek against the top of his hair for a moment before he began signing another autograph. Without looking at her, he murmured. “I like you a lot.”
Alyssa lifted her shoulders to her ears and resisted the squeal in her throat. That was a huge admission for him. She knew what he meant, so she lowered her mouth to his ear and whispered, “I love you, too.”
She waited for him to go rigid and back away from her, but he didn’t. Instead, his cheeks tinted in a blush. He smiled at her, kissed her softly, and murmured, “Good.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clinton took his cell phone and keys out of his back pocket and settled them into Alyssa’s outstretched hand. God, why was she this nervous?
“You’ve got this, babe,” she said as Clinton removed his T-shirt. Apparently that was the rule Beck had negotiated for the All-Shifter events today. No shirts so the ladies could ogle, and so the news and photographers could catch those muscle-ripping shots of the shifters going to work.
Her claiming mark was fully healed and was hard to see at a distance, but still, it was scary having it on display. Clinton cupped her neck and kissed her deeply, dipped his tongue against hers, nipped her bottom lip, and disengaged. Eyes bright, he gave her one last here-we-go look and then made his way to his log with Mason. They were the only two Boarlanders in this event. Mason gripped Clinton’s shoulder, placing his hand perfectly over her mark as he talked low to Clinton. God, they were massive men.
The sheer volume of women at today’s Lumberjack Wars had been record-breaking, and the awed murmurs from the crowd around her were intimidating. These boys would always get attention from women for what they were. Their instincts to protect their mates and rear young, and their masculine, powerful bodies were partially to thank for that.
Alyssa had worn her contacts today since it was sunny. She pushed her sunglasses farther up her nose as she read the towering score board a few events over. The Ashe Crew, Gray Backs, and Boarlanders were neck and neck, but this event could win it for her crew. And dang, it would be so awesome for them not to be C-Team anymore.
“Come on, Clinton!” she cheered, clapping as he made his way up onto the plank of wood sticking out of the thick log.
It bounced smoothly under his weight, but he balanced on it easily. His eyes were on Mason, who was right beside him and talking to him low, his eyes blazing the bright blue of his boar people. Kellen and Drew of the Ashe Crew were in this event, Beaston and Matt were representing the Gray Backs, and Kong had been an all-day one-man wrecking crew for his small Lowlander family group. And wow, all their eyes were blazing inhumanly bright. The event workers ten feet below the shifters’ planks tossed up axes, and the competitors caught them easily. Arms rippling, tatted up, snarly, demon-eyed shifters, and all the ladies around her were cooling themselves with fans Beck had been handing out that said Vote with Cora Keller’s pro-shifter website listed at the bottom for more information.
She understood those wide-eyed tipsy looks from the crowd. The shifters swayed slightly as they found their balance on the boards and pulled their axes back over one shoulder, readying for the horn. Clinton had her ovaries in a mushroom cloud right now.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured, rocking up on the balls of her feet with nerves.
She squeezed his phone, and it vibrated. Crap, she probably pushed a button. Alyssa turned it over as it vibrated again. Someone was calling, but when she saw the number, the crowd disappeared around her. The cheering dulled, and even the air horn blasting the start of the event sounded muted and far away.
Why was Mom calling Clinton?
Her hand shook more and more with every ring as she stared at her house number on the glowing screen. Why was it labeled home? He hadn’t met her parents yet. Hadn’t even talked to them on the phone since she had planned on Clinton meeting them in person in a few weeks when she officially moved her stuff from North Carolina to 1010. When the phone stopped ringing, the chop, chop of the event echoed hollowly around in her mind.
“Clinton! Clinton! Clinton!”
People were cheering her man. She should be, too. There would be a good explanation.
She jacked her gaze up to the logs being chopped where Clinton was already halfway through, his powerful body twisting with each blow he sunk deep into the wood. His ax gleamed in the sunlight as he brought it back and swung again, chips of wood exploding outward on impact.
His phone dinged, and now it had a voicemail icon.
In a daze, Alyssa poked it and lifted his phone to her ear. Mom’s recording came over the line, loud and clear. “Hi, Clinton. I was just calling to touch base. We haven’t talked about what we’re going to tell Alyssa in a few days. Craig and I are worried about that dream you told us about. It sounds like a memory, and if she’s getting them back, we were thinking of coming clean. I know she’s happy with you, though, so we wanted to include you in the decision. All right, we love ya, boy. Let us know what you’re thinking. Bye.”
Someone jostled her hard, and when she lowered the phone, Audrey and Beck were screaming and jumping, cheering loudly. “Clinton won! The Boarlanders won!”
The Boarlanders won. No more C-Team. More jostling, but everything felt so surreal. And when she looked up at Clinton’s grinning face as he knocked axes with Mason on the log next to him, she just couldn’t understand how he had this rapport with her parents. We love ya, boy. He’d told them about her dream, and mom said it was a memory? Her with the boy. Her being grabbed. That was a memory?
No. She backed up a few steps and ran into a barrel-chested man with his beer mug raised in the air. “Sorry,” she murmured.
Clinton’s eyes locked onto hers, and time slowed. His bright smile faded from his face, and his eyebrows lowered in confusion. He hopped off his plank, but she wanted to run. Run away from whatever betrayal he and her parents had cooked up. Run away from the hurt. Run away from him.
“What’s wrong?” How had he gotten to her so fast? His eyes were light, more white than gray. More white than gray. Just like the boy in her dreams. She wanted to retch.
Alyssa wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Why don’t you ever say my name?”
“What?” he asked, matching her stride as she made her way past the outskirts of the crowd.
“I’ve thought about it, and I’ve never heard you say my name.” She rounded on him. “Say it. Say Alyssa.”
The fire cooled from Clinton’s eyes, and he straightened up. His lips twisted into a stubborn line, and he gave his gaze to the tents nearby. Alyssa pushed him hard in the chest, but he didn’t move. “Say it!”
He looked furious now as he blinked slowly and brought those blazing eyes to hers, his face angled to the side in warning.
Why was she crying? He didn’t deserve to see her tears. “Say my name, Clinton. My real name.”
His Adam’s apple dipped into his throat. “Shae.”
“No.” She shook her head and backed away, bit her bottom lip hard to punish the weak tremble there. “No.”
She bolted for the front entrance, then sprinted past the gate and into the parking lot. Where was her damned car? Where had she parked? Frantically, she scanned the lot as she ran through row after row of cars. There it was, another five rows to go.
“Shae, stop,” Clinton pleaded.
His hand on her arm was gentle enough, but she flinched away from him. “My fucking mom called.” She held up his cell phone. “She left a voicemail about which way to spin your lies. You know me! You’ve known me all along. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“If you’ll just calm down, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down!”
“Listen, I didn’t tell you for a reason.”
“What reason could you possibly have to li
e to me? What reason, Clinton?”
He held his hands out like he was soothing a startled horse, but his eyes were blazing so bright they were hard to look at. The air felt heavy. Too heavy to breathe.
“I’ve known you all my life.”
A sob wrenched from her throat. “Who am I?” she screamed.
Clinton looked gutted when he murmured, “Your name is Shalene Dunleavy. You were born here in Saratoga, and you lived a few doors down from the trailer I grew up in. Stop backing away.” There was an edge to his voice. “Don’t give me your back right now and don’t run.”
Chills blasted up her forearms. “You were the boy, Clinton. I guessed, and you told me you weren’t.”
“I’m not him anymore.”
“I dreamed you traded yourself for Shae.” She shook her head hard to rid herself of the creeping dizziness. “You traded yourself for me.”
“I had to. You were there because of me. God, Shae, you should know you were there because of me, and whatever happened to you in there, you don’t want to remember. You don’t. You were taken when you were sixteen. I fought them. I couldn’t fucking Change. My bear wouldn’t work right when I was a kid, and I was trying so hard to just Change into my animal and kill those mother fuckers who were after us, but I couldn’t. And when I woke up in the woods, I was bad off, and you weren’t where I’d left you.”
“The log.” Her face fell, and tears streamed out of her eyes.
“They thought you were the bear shifter, and it took me two years of searching. Two years of you in that goddamned hell facility, and that was part of the deal. They would do a trade for me, but only if your memories were wiped. It was that or they would dispose of you.” Clinton winced and shook his head hard. “And I agreed because that sounded like the perfect solution to me. I was going in, and I wouldn’t get out, but I didn’t want you remembering me or feeling guilty that I’d traded places with you. But more than anything, I didn’t want you remembering whatever they did to you.” Clinton shrugged. “I still don’t! If I could’ve gotten away with this and your parents stayed on board, I would’ve taken this to my grave if it saved you from pain.”
