Sloan chewed on his lower lip. “Look, I guess I can understand how you feel. That’s your kid, and you can’t take a chance. But most of us are way more settled than we used to be. Having mates has changed us. Xander was the worst, but…I’m hoping having a mate will do the same for him.” He added quietly, “He really does love you.”
Jenny looked away. Brandon was running in circles around and around the couch, making airplane noises.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t settle him. I just seem to make him crazier. Do you think he’s okay? That look on his face…like I betrayed him…”
Sloan blew out a noisy sigh. “I don’t know. Flynn has a tracker on his truck, though, so he’ll go after him, or Tank will. Somebody strong enough and dominant enough to drag him back.”
Jenny knew Flynn well enough already not to be surprised about the tracker. But just because Xander could be found didn’t mean he wanted to be.
She said in a small voice, “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”
Sloan touched her gently on the arm. “Give him a chance,” he said.
Brandon ran over and pointed to his bottom. “Mama,” he said imperiously. “Poop. Fix.”
“Oh, geez,” she said. “I don’t have diapers. Or a changing table. Or a crib. He’s really too little for a bed, and…” She sank down on the couch, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Sloan said. “Caitlyn and I can run out to the store right now and get a portable crib, anyway. And some diapers. Whatever else you need. Make me a list.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t let you do that. It’s too much trouble.”
Sloan waved that away. “You’re Xander’s mate,” he said. “That makes you family.” Hesitantly, he bent and rubbed his cheek gently against hers in a cat-gesture of comfort. Like she was a sister, or a close friend.
That almost did her in.
“I really do love Xander,” she said. “I was just trying to do the right thing.”
Sloan nodded. “He’ll figure that out,” he said. “Just give him time.”
Chapter 18
Xander drove the back roads until his cat finally shut the hell up and stopped making strangled noises. Then he drove to a ball field where he sometimes went on sunny afternoons, when he needed to get away.
He bought a bottle of water from the concession stand and sat on the hood of his truck, legs dangling down, watching the kids play. He’d changed out of his shorts, fishing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out of the back of the truck where he kept his spare stash. He’d shredded way too many clothes in uncontrolled shifts not to have a couple changes back there, just in case.
There were two games going on today. A local league had the near field—middle school kids in uniforms with logos of ice cream parlors and bowling alleys—the sponsors of childhood.
The gathering places of communities.
On the next field was a t-ball game. Little kids, kids too young to hit a pitch or throw one from the mound to the plate. He saw one kid, a little dark-haired boy, smack the ball off the tee and head for first base, his chubby little legs pounding while the infielders fumbled the ball in their too-large mitts.
Parents sat on the sidelines with folding chairs and picnic blankets and coolers. Kids ran up and down the splintered bleachers at the side of the ball field, chasing each other and shrieking.
Dads coached. Adjusting grips and yelling encouragement, corralling kids who were wandering off in search of juice boxes and bathrooms and butterflies and who knew fuck-all else.
He yearned for it with every fiber of his being.
Another truck drove into the parking lot and pulled up next to him. He glanced up. It was Tank, which surprised him a little, down in the place where he gave a fuck what was going on. He wasn’t that close to Tank, not like he was to Sloan or Jaz or even Lissa.
The big guy must have drawn the short straw.
Tank shut the door of his truck and walked over to stand next to Xander, leaning his hips against the fender of the truck. He had a couple cold ones in his hand, and handed one to Xander.
“It’s illegal to have an open beer here without a permit. Public park.”
Tank gave a tiny snort. “Since when do you care about the law?”
Xander shrugged. Cracked open his beer and took a swig. “I used to.”
Tank opened his own beer and took a long pull. Didn’t say anything.
“How’d you find me?” Xander asked.
“How do you think? Flynn was tracking you.”
Of course he was. Flynn acted like he was the head of the fucking CIA. He had trackers on all their vehicles. Hell, he probably snuck in while they were asleep and injected microchips under their skin.
Tank went on, “When I saw where you were, I asked to be the one to come.”
Xander knew he was supposed to ask why, but he was out of fucks to give. He watched a t-ball kid take a tumble running to second. He got called out at the base, and got up, knees and hands scraped, crying. Third out.
One of the coaches went over and leaned down, hands on his knees, talking low to the crying kid. The kid nodded, wiping his tears away and sniffling. The coach put his hand on the little kid’s shoulder for a second, then ruffled his hair. He scooped the kid’s baseball cap off the ground and plunked it on his head backwards. He said something else, and the kid laughed through his tears.
Watching that, Xander felt an ache in his chest. Longing and loss. “I always wanted to be a dad,” he said.
Tank didn’t say anything, just took another swallow of his beer. He was standing close enough that his thigh was just touching Xander’s knee. The way he and Flynn did, when they were comforting each other but being all manly shifter about it.
Xander hadn’t grown up with that shifter touchy-feely shit, but he was getting to like it—not that he ever told his crew. It really did make him feel better, somehow.
“I had this whole chick-type fantasy going,” he said. “About getting married and having three kids and a house in the suburbs, with a lawn and a dog and a fucking hamster.” He took a pull at his beer. “Now, if I saw a hamster, I’d probably just want to pounce on it and kill it.”
The silence drew out. He felt the pain well up inside him, all the way from his guts, pressing the air out of his lungs and stinging the backs of his eyes.
“I was going to be the best dad,” he said, the words coming out hardly more than a whisper. “I was going to teach my kid to throw a baseball, and coach t-ball and Little League.” He paused, trying to take a breath. “Or soccer or hockey or whatever the fuck they wanted to play.”
He tried again, but the air just got caught someplace behind his breastbone. “I was going to be the grillmeister and have neighborhood barbecues. I was going to help my kids with their science projects and make bottle rockets and baking-soda volcanoes and shit. We were going to go camping, and drive to the fucking Grand Canyon, with them whining about when we were going to get there, and me asking them why the hell they didn’t pee before we left the house.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one side of Tank’s mouth lift in a tiny smile. He couldn’t look. His eyes were burning, but the tears wouldn’t come. His whole chest was burning. “I really wanted to do that,” he said.
“And suddenly now I’m a dad. I have a fucking son. And he’s just like me.” It was still hard to breathe. “I have a kid, and I can never be that dad I always wanted to be. I can never give him this.” He waved his hand at the scene in front of them.
“I still want to,” he said quietly. “I want it so bad I—” He shook his head. How could he describe the burning, shredding feeling of knowing how badly he was going to fuck this up?
Tank took another sip of his beer. Xander could feel his friend’s bear, calm and steady. It almost helped.
Tank finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. “I wasn’t born human, like you were,” he said. “But I had a normal life, once.” He toyed with the be
er in his hand, running his fingers over the sweating glass, sending droplets running down onto his jeans.
“Angie—my first mate—and I didn’t live with a shifter group. We had that little cabin in the Georgia mountains, all on our own.”
Xander nodded; he’d been there with Tank and Lissa right after they got together, to help Tank close it up and pack up some stuff.
“I went to work every day, and came home to Angie making dinner with vegetables from her garden. She loved that garden,” he said, the warmth of happy memories coming into his voice.
“I fucking loved that life, almost as much as I loved her.” He paused, swallowing. “We’re Bad Bloods because we’ve all lost everything,” he said. “Most of us more than once.”
Xander nodded. The losers and the misfits.
Tank went on, “The last thing—the hardest thing—I had to do to be happy with Lissa wasn’t giving up the memory of Angie. I’ll always have that.” His hand tightened around the bottle. “It was giving up the life I should have had.”
Tank finished his beer in two big swallows. “You okay here?”
Xander nodded.
Tank pushed himself off the truck and rested his hand on Xander’s shoulder for a second. Then he walked off to his truck, started it up, and drove away.
Xander sat on the hood of his truck while the sun sank. The games ended; the families packed up and headed for home or ice cream or dinner at Denny’s.
The playing fields emptied, and still he sat, rolling his empty beer bottle between his hands, until the darkness covered them.
He drove slowly back to the territory, not thinking, feeling like a hollow shell. The sea of dark emotions had receded, and there was nothing but emptiness to replace it.
When he got back to the compound, everyone was sitting around the fire pit. Dinner was over—he could smell it in the air—but he wasn’t hungry. Sloan was playing his guitar and singing softly, with Caitlyn sitting on the patio next to his chair, leaning against his legs.
The conversation was soft, muted. No drinking games, not much banter. Flynn sat a little apart from the others, half in shadow, slouched low in his chair with his long legs splayed out in front of him. Only Jaz and Brody were missing—working at the restaurant.
Jenny sat on the retaining wall, playing with Brandon. He was in panther form, chasing a moth, leaping at it and batting it with his little paws. Xander could see Jenny watching him, feel her wanting him to come over, to say something sweet and forgiving and loving.
She was hurting, and it tugged at him like a physical pain. But he just…couldn’t. He felt like if anyone spoke to him or touched him, he’d shatter into a million fucking pieces.
He climbed his favorite oak tree on the other side of the clearing. He and his cat both loved it—its strong, level, comfortable branches, some of them over a foot thick. The feeling of permanence, like it had stood forever and always would. The sense of safety it gave him. A place to hide, and think, a place to be with the others but not too close.
Never too close.
He leaned against the trunk and stretched his legs out along his favorite branch. The conversation over at the fire pit had gotten louder, happier. As if knowing he was here, and okay, had lifted some of the tension. Somewhere, beneath the emptiness and bone-deep fatigue, he appreciated that.
He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, listening to Sloan’s music, to the rise and fall of noise that meant family and home to him now. This new, accidental life he’d fallen into, filled with people he loved.
Who somehow were stupid enough to love him back.
He didn’t know how long he sat there before he heard the scrabbling of claws in the tree below him.
“Brandon, no,” Jenny called, but it was too late. He opened his eyes to see a pair of tiny greenish yellow eyes coming determinedly up the tree.
Brandon scrambled up onto his branch and dropped something in his lap. It was a dead mouse, freshly killed.
His first gift from his son.
Brandon looked up at Xander, his little black ears pricked, his eyes hopeful.
Fuck. His eyes burned. He picked up the mouse, cradling it in his hand. “I love it, buddy,” he said. “It’s the best. And you’re a fucking awesome hunter.”
He pulled the little cat into his lap, his son’s baby panther scent filling his nostrils and making his chest ache. Brandon put his front paws on Xander’s chest and snuggled his furry head into the crook of his neck. He felt the rasp of a tiny tongue on his skin, and heard the beginnings of a baby purr.
A lithe black shape leaped from the ground below onto another branch, to his right. Jenny silently climbed up and draped herself over a diagonal branch just behind him, the warmth of her fur seeming to reach across and envelop Xander, even though they weren’t touching.
The panther family at home.
Holding his dead mouse, he rested his cheek on his son’s head and stroked his fur, letting the tears fall.
Chapter 19
Jenny lay in the tree for a long time, watching Xander hold their son, until the fire died down and the others went to bed, leaving the clearing quiet.
Finally, he swung his legs off the branch, pivoted and jumped. He landed gracefully on the ground below, still holding Brandon tucked into the crook of his arm. In the other hand he clutched the bloody dead mouse, as if it were the most precious thing he’d ever been given.
If she wasn’t in panther form right now, she’d be bawling like a baby.
Xander still didn’t say anything to her, just looked up into her eyes for a few seconds, and then headed for his trailer.
Jenny jumped down out of the tree and Changed, retrieving her clothes from where she’d left them folded on a lawn chair. She wished she knew what Xander was thinking, but then, he’d always been good at hiding that.
All she knew was what he was feeling, through the beginnings of their mating bond. Sadness warring with happiness. A protective love so fierce it pierced her to the core. And a deep, desperate, aching pain that almost buckled her knees.
If this was what he carried around all the time, she didn’t know how he was still standing.
She dressed with shaking hands. She didn’t know what she would say to him, or if he’d even speak to her. But she couldn’t leave him feeling like this, any more than she could ignore her son when he was hurting.
She loved them both so much. But Xander couldn’t be comforted by cuddles and treats and kisses to make it better.
He needed more from her, and she didn’t know how to give it to him.
She was beginning to realize she didn’t really know him at all, and he deserved to be known and understood and cherished.
She walked to the trailer, anxiety churning in her gut. She was no good at confrontations unless she was angry. What if he wouldn’t talk to her? What if he told her to get out?
When she went inside, the lights were on in the kitchen area, and the dead mouse had been carefully laid out on a paper towel on the counter. Even as her heart ached, seeing that made her smile.
She found Xander in the tiny guest room. There was barely room to move, between the bed and the portable crib Sloan and Caitlyn had found at the thrift store, and the jerry-rigged changing table.
Brandon had Changed back to human form without waking up. Xander had him on the changing table and was trying to wrestle a diaper out of the package while holding on to Brandon with one hand to make sure he didn’t roll off.
She should be doing that. He must think she was a terrible mother already—the least she could do was take care of Brandon now.
“Here, I’ll do it,” she said, taking the package out of his hands. She pulled out the diaper and then moved to the changing table, unconsciously shouldering Xander aside. “He should really have a bath,” she said, as she fastened the diaper with practiced hands. “But I don’t want to wake him.”
She picked Brandon up and cuddled him to her, taking comfort in his warmth an
d the sweet baby smell of him. Even dirty, he smelled delicious.
Xander watched them for a moment, then turned and went out of the room without saying anything.
He was angry. And hurt. How could she possibly fix this?
She laid Brandon in the crib and put a blanket over him. She thought of the last time she’d watched him sleeping. She’d been on her way to find Xander, then. On her way here, to this place.
She’d worried that Xander wouldn’t want them. And then she’d found so much more here than she’d hoped. A mating bond, and happiness. And such a short time later, she was back where she started, looking at her sweet little boy and wondering how she’d managed to mess up their lives so completely.
She kissed Brandon, and then went out to face Xander.
He was standing by the kitchen counter, looking down at the dead mouse. As she watched, he stroked it gently with his finger.
“What are you going to do with that?” she asked.
He shrugged, not turning around. “I don’t know. Stuff it, maybe. Or give it a decent burial.” He touched it again. “I can’t just throw it out.”
Because his son gave it to him. That touched her deep in her heart. He already loved Brandon. The way he’d held him, cuddled him—and she’d seen his tears, even though he tried to hide them.
But did he still love her? Or had she hurt him too much?
She took a deep breath. Brave. She had to be brave.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t bargain for this, for having a cub. He’s a good boy, though. Kind of a handful, but I’ll take care of him. Maybe Flynn will let me do some accounting here at home. I’ll keep him out of your way as much as I can—”
Xander turned around, his whole body tense. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?” he said, his voice low and angry. “Shit. I don’t know why I thought you would. I thought that we had something. I thought you were starting to believe in me, but—” He clenched his fingers around the edge of the counter. “Forget it.”
“I’m sorry!” Jenny said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? I was just—”
Bad Blood Panther (Bad Blood Shifters Book 4) Page 11
