Chapter 11.2: Home

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"You really should reconsider trying to turn. Your wolf form will make healing so much faster," Clayton says for the umpteenth time.

We've been sitting by the mangled wreckage of his sports car waiting for help for nearly two hours and other than him occasionally pestering me about this, we've both suffered in silence.

"I'm good, but you're still very welcome to go for it," I say, beyond annoyed and no longer as emotional in my response as the first several instances he's brought this up.

Sitting on the ground and with his back against a large rock, Clayton sighs.

"I saw that wobble in your step the last time you got up and you've thrown up at least twice," he says. "Plus with that cut on your head, it's pretty obvious that in the very least you have a concussion. So you definitely are not good."

I thought I had been doing an okay job of hiding my symptoms, but I guess nothing escapes his attention. Even when he's dealing with a dislocated shoulder.

"I just need some water and rest. But I have to keep this cut for as long as it takes it to naturally heal so that whoever ran us off the road or arranged for it can see that I'm not afraid of them."

"Why do you even think they'll see it?"

"I have a weird feeling that it's someone with strong ties to Packard. There's no—"

The appearance of headlights and the sound of tires crunching on gravel cut me off, and we both look up the embankment as a dark SUV comes into view.

"Finally," Clayton says, pushing himself up to a standing position.

By the time I get to my feet, the driver has exited the car. But instead of Carlos' balding head, I catch a glimpse of a full head of blonde hair.

"You two still alive down there?" Spencer calls down to us cheerfully as his dark silhouette navigates the uneven ground.

"You got the campus barkeep to save us?" I ask Clayton as he slowly moves forward. It's only when the two of them awkwardly hug that the shoe drops. "Oh."

I remember now that Clayton had mentioned having a brother, but I never thought it would be the happy-go-lucky guy running the Cock and Mamie watering hole. Oh, geez. I hope I didn't unknowingly say anything bad about Clayton to his brother the few times I visited the establishment!

"Barlow?"

Another familiar voice comes from above as the second person exits the SUV.

"Lark?" I call back, suddenly starting to not only believe Clayton about having a concussion, but also fearing that I'm now hallucinating and it might be even worse than either of us suspected. Because why else would my sister be here, too.

Clayton's more pragmatic. "Who's minding the pub?" he asks Spencer while nodding toward Lark. "I thought you were already short-staffed."

Although it's not very relevant to our situation, at least his statement confirms that Clayton knows about my sister and her continued presence on campus. The last thing I feel like doing right now is explain that messed up situation.

"I raised the hourly pay rate and voila, the applications started coming in again," Spencer says, slapping his older brother on the back. "But I doubt you called me to review P and L statements. Ready to get out of here? The tow truck's on the way, but there's no need to wait."

"Let's go," Clayton says, taking Spencer's arm to help him up the incline.

Lark does the same for me and soon we're on the road, the two guys up front and us girls in the back seat.

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