Five

ALICIA

Three Years Later

“Alicia! Someone’s on the phone for you!”

The sound wakes me from my doze. It’s been impossible to sleep lately, and Chad isn’t helping matters by playing Freedom Fighters: Special Forces all hours of the day and night. His only concession to the fact that other people live in this house is that he uses headphones when the baby is asleep—which, thankfully, she is now.

She’s been having so much trouble sleeping lately. I have no idea what I’m going to do about it. The trouble is that she’s two years old now, and her wolf aspects are coming in. Heightened sense of smell, for instance. It’s normal for babies to have trouble settling down at this age, as they start to take on more wolf qualities. It’s normal for that to freak them out.

It’s just that most shifter babies are raised in packs, where people can help the mother deal with it. Not the case with Emmy.

I drag myself out of bed and into the living room. Chad doesn’t look up from his game. He’s not even holding the phone. He tossed it onto the couch beside him. I go over and pick it up. “Hello?”

“Alicia?” It’s Pat on the phone, and she’s all business, as usual. “We need you to come back to Greystone territory.”

“What?” I walk away from the gunshot noises of Brad’s game so I can hear my sister better. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s Dad,” she says.

My heart skips a beat. I’ve been expecting a call like this.

After all, Dad isn’t getting any younger. “What happened?”

“I mean, nothing.” Pat lets out a long sigh. “Nothing happened. It’s just that his memory is starting to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s just old, Alicia.” Pat’s tone is impatient. It’s like she thinks she’s had this conversation with me a dozen times already. “He forgets things. He leaves the stove on. He doesn’t take his medicine.”

“Alzheimer’s?”

“Probably. You know we can’t diagnose something like that on pack land.”

Meaning he would need a human doctor. And most shifters would never deign to see a human doctor.

I shouldn’t be so high and mighty about it, really. Human doctors aren’t much good to us. Our physiologies are all wrong. I had to stop taking Emmy to the pediatrician this year because he noticed that her heart rate was way too high and was about to order a battery of tests—tests I know she doesn’t need. She’s fine. Her body is fine. She just isn’t human.

“I don’t think I can come home right now,” I tell Pat. "I have work.”

Work isn’t the problem. I glance in the direction of my daughter’s bedroom. There are things my family doesn’t know about. Things I don’t want anyone to know about. “I can probably get away for the weekend and come see him.”

“I’m not asking you to come for a visit. You need to come back to the pack for an extended stay. You need to help us take care of Dad.”

“Dad has three kids in the pack,” I say, in what I hope is a reasonable tone. “He doesn’t need me, too.”

I don’t even believe myself as I say it, because I do want to help him, I just can’t risk anyone finding out about my daughter.

“We need you,” Pat says. “Kayla’s been doing it all by herself. That’s too much to ask of one person.”

“One person? Why is it one person? What about you?”

“I’m married, Alicia,” Pat says. She sounds deeply frustrated by my questions. “I can’t drop everything and go live at home. I do as much as I can. I’m over with Dad every

day. But I have my own family to think of too. I can’t leave my husband on his own.”

“What about Lonnie?” I ask.

Pat just snorts, which is fair enough. Of course Lonnie isn’t going to be any help. He’s never thought about anyone besides himself in his entire life.

“I told Kayla to call you a week ago,” she says. “She wouldn’t. You know how Kay is. She thinks she can handle everything by herself, but she can’t.”

Kayla does do that. “I’ll give her a call,” I say. I can do that much.

“No, don’t call her,” Pat says. “You know what she’ll say if you do. She’ll tell you everything’s just fine, she doesn’t need any help, and she’s handling it. She’ll tell you to stay where you are.”

It’s true. She would say those things.

But Kayla can’t manage this alone. Not if Dad’s memory is going. She needs help.

From the living room, I hear a hoot of triumph as Chad blasts one of his enemies.

Be honest with yourself. You were looking for a reason to leave.

“All right,” I tell Pat. “I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Just make sure you come,” she says. “It’s not a good situation over there. Dad’s having more and more trouble remembering basic things, and I don’t know the last time Kayla slept.”

“And you really can’t go over?”

“I go over as much as I can, Alicia. What do you take me for? But I can’t do it everyday. I need to be with my mate. I have a responsibility to him too. I can’t be at home overnight every night the way you can. You and Kayla are the single ones. You’re the ones who can be counted upon for something like this.”

I know she has a point, but I have Emmy to think about.

“I’ll need a couple of days to get my affairs in order,” I tell my sister. “But I’ll be there as soon as I can.

As soon as I’m off the call, I go out into the living room and stand in front of the TV.

Chad doesn’t even look at me. He cranes his neck to try to look around me.

“I’m leaving,” I tell him. It feels like a weight off my shoulders.

“Well, bring more beer when you come back.” I shake my head.

“No. I’m leaving you.”

That gets his attention. He actually pauses his game and looks at me. “What the fuck, Alicia?”“This isn’t going anywhere. You know it’s not.”“What do you want? To get married or something?”

I can’t think of anything more horrible. “Absolutely not.”

“Because you know that shit’s not for me.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive, Chad. Don’t worry about that.”

He snorts. “So, what? You’ve found someone else?”

“I’m going home. To my family.”

“And this is how you’re doing it? Out of nowhere? You don’t even want to try to talk about things?”

For a moment, I imagine having a heart to heart talk with Chad. Trying to work through the issues in our relationship. The idea is laughable.

“Look,” I tell him. “We had our fun.” Not much of it, but there were moments, I guess. “This has run its course.”

“How can I get in touch with you?”

“You can’t,” I tell him. “We’re finished.”

His expression turns mulish. “It’s my apartment. I’m not moving out.”

“No,” I agree. “I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”