Hope(less)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

Sam sat at the worn, oak table in the middle of the sunlit kitchen. He scowled at its dull surface, and when I walked into the room, transferred the glum look to me. I shook my head at him and went to make his morning coffee. 

Sam and mornings didn't mesh well. I'd realized that as soon as I'd moved in. How a werewolf, usually graceful and strong, could stumble and mumble until he had his caffeine still confused me. With his werewolf metabolism, I doubted it really did anything for him. Regardless, I still took pity on him and tried to wake up first to start a pot-even though it wasn't my drink of preference in the morning. 

Today, however, his familiar morning scowl didn't solely relate to his need for coffee. After two years of almost monthly visits to the Canadian werewolf community, this weekend would be my last, and he didn't like it. Happily, I hadn't met a single werewolf who had any type of pull on me. 

The way I figured it, I'd fulfilled my end of our deal. Though school had scheduled Graduation for Sunday, I'd opted not to attend. I had no desire to put this visit off for another week. The faculty could mail my diploma. After this weekend, I planned to work as much as possible to save up what I could before going off to college. 

I measured out the coffee grounds and reflected back on my time with Sam. I'd kept him company, and his mere presence had kept me safe while he'd provided me with the information I needed about the werewolves and the pack community. Although Sam had shared so much of the werewolves' life and culture, I acknowledged I still didn't know everything. It didn't matter, though. I'd learned enough...and not just about werewolves. 

Sam was a great role model for responsibility and planning. It's what he did for the pack. Because of him, I already worked as much as I could after school. But, it wasn't just his example that pushed me to become so dedicated to work and financial responsibility. Shortly after I moved in with Sam, I'd discovered that work commitments ensured he couldn't talk me into going to the Compound more than we'd bargained. He knew I'd need the means to get an education and support myself and never tried to talk me out of working. So, I worked and I tried to bank enough money to hold me over while I went to school. 

As an Elder of the pack, Sam was extremely down to earth and wise. He carefully thought through all decisions with a deliberate calm that I admired. He didn't think of himself when making any decision, only of the pack. Their welfare ruled his life. Thankfully, even though he hadn't managed to tie me to anyone, he considered me part of the pack. That meant when I talked, he listened with his full attention, which I really did like. 

Coffee brewing, I leaned against the counter and openly smirked at Sam. 

"Come on, don't be pouty about this. We made a deal, and I stuck to it. I've met more man-dogs than I can remember. Some, even twice." My made-up term seemed to amuse him. 

I pushed away from the counter and walked behind his chair. Resting my forearms on his shoulders, I rolled them outward and pressed down with my full weight. The tension slowly left his shoulders, and I rested my chin on his head. Yeah, I was that short compared to him. 

"Tell me you're going to be okay without me here." I couldn't remember my real grandpa, but over the last two years, Sam had filled that role well, despite our rough start. I knew he had managed his own coffee in the morning for years before I moved in with him, but I still wondered what he'd do without me here to keep him company. 

He sighed gustily and reached back to pat my cheek, the extent of affection I allowed with him. It had been a gradual progress to work up to it. He knew most physical contact made me uncomfortable. He understood it and never seemed offended by it. I'd held myself away from people for so long, I wasn't sure I'd ever be completely comfortable with casually touching anyone.