Chapter Song: Black Leaf Falls - Sea Wolf
XX
I find myself glancing toward the window for the rest of my shift, expecting him to return at any moment with those cold, dead hands and that face that's neither young nor old. He'd offered me an option, albeit in a threatening and persistent way, but maybe next time there won't be any way to say no. What the hell could he possibly want with me anyway?
As I'm clearing off one last table at the end of my shift, I catch the faint scent of another wolf and whirl quickly, my heart already thrumming as if to set my legs to running. But then I see the blond hair poking out from beneath a battered Twins cap, and the relief at seeing Cam's smile is enough to make my eyes prick unexpectedly with tears. Peter's with him too, looking just as exhausted and equally hungry.
"Hey, boys," I greet, leaning into Cam as he kisses my cheek. Peter tips his cap at me and glances around the empty diner, offering a little wave to Jeana as she passes by. "Jeana's letting us take some leftover roast and potatoes. Meet me upstairs in a few?"
They nod and say goodnight to Jeana, and I'm filled with a sense of affection for both of them, the only two wolves I get to keep near me now.
"You keep an eye on her, Cam," Jeana says as he passes by. "Some guy gave her a lot of grief today."
"Jeana chased him off," I add in quickly. "I don't think he'll be back."
"Someone's bothering you?" Cam stops in his tracks and looks between us, his knitted brow betraying his concern. "What happened?"
"It's not a big deal—I'll tell you about it over dinner, okay?"
Jeana gives me a knowing look and moves back to the kitchen to wipe down before we lock up for the night. "You kids be careful, and let me know if you see him again."
"Thanks, Jeana." Cam and Peter finally leave to walk up the stairs just outside the diner door, but not before Cam gives me a long look like he wants to press the issue now but knows better. I can hear their work boots clunking up the stairs above as I finish up cleaning.
When I arrive upstairs carrying roast and potatoes, Cam holds the door open for me and takes the food from my hands, preparing a few plates to warm up in the half-functioning microwave someone had left on a street curb.
"Long day?" I ask Peter as we settle onto the floor in a little circle.
"Yeah," he sighs, sending a sideways glance toward Cam. "Could have been worse."
"Something happen?"
"Just a weird day," Cam interjects a little too quickly, and we both look at him.
"Weird how?"
Peter takes a big bite of roast, and it's impossible not to notice the way he's avoiding our gazes. "Cam almost had a log fall onto him."
"What?"
"Peter, knock it off." Cam shoots him a glare and won't look at me when he sets the plates in front of us and sits down.
"You weren't going to tell me about it, were you. Cam..."
"Were you going to tell me about that guy?"
"I didn't almost die."
"Well, I'm fine, okay? Don't worry, Layla."
I look at Peter and he shifts uncomfortably. "What happened?"
"Someone stacked logs too high on the truck, that's all. The top one rolled off, but Cam saw it in time." He shrugs apologetically at Cam before looking back at me. "This is good roast."
"And?" Cam slips a hand over my knee, not touching his food. "You said you'd tell me what happened."
"I'm not over the fact you almost died."
"And now I feel like you're avoiding the question."
"Seriously? I'm avoiding the question?" I realize the edge that's crept its way into my voice and I close my eyes for a long moment. "I'm sorry, it's been a weird day, and I don't know what I would do if I didn't get to see you at the end of it."
There's a silence that settles over the room, and Peter stares pointedly at his plate while Cam runs a hand over his face. "God, Pete, why'd you have to say that?"
"You weren't going to tell her."
"That's not true, I just—Layla, I don't want you to worry every time I leave."
"You know I'm going to! There's no point in us doing any of this if you die."
"I'm not going to die. You're not starting to believe that curse talk, are you?"
"No, of course not." Except in that moment I think about Paul's parting words, and I wonder if he knows something about a curse too. But it's a silly thought, and I push it out of my head. I'm scared, and believing in curses or fate or gods isn't going to help.
"I promise I'll tell you if anything ever happens in the future. But it won't, because I'm going to be extremely careful, okay? I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. I just...it's weird not seeing you all day."
"I know it is." His face softens, and he offers a smile, which means more to me than I think he realizes. "So what happened with this guy?"
I don't know how much to tell them, or if it's worth it to tell them anything. There's no way to properly describe the feeling of that undead touch, or the way his eyes seemed to look through me. "There isn't much to tell. He was just being a creep. But...I think he's a wolf."
Peter and Cam look up at the same time. "I don't know any other wolves around here," Peter says slowly. "What did he look like?"
"Tall, like very tall. He had black hair and yellow eyes, and, I don't know, there was just something off about him."
"What did he want?"
"Just to talk."
"Did you talk to him?" Cam is good at keeping his voice gentle even when he's nervous, but I know him too well.
"No, I didn't. I threatened to call the cops and he left."
"You'll tell me if he comes around again, right?"
"I will, I promise. I don't think he's going to though, I think Jeana put the fear of god into him." I don't really, and I think Cam can probably see that from my face, but he doesn't push anymore. We eat the rest of our dinner in a clouded silence until Peter brings up the protests calling for the Vice President to resign. There's a new meme circulating now called There's A Bitch For That—just one out of many that feature the picture of Miles Matthews bursting out of his suit in wolf form to protect the president. Calling him the president's bitch doesn't seem very original, but then internet forums don't really care about originality, just virality.
"I'm sick of it," Peter sighs. "You know, if he'd have just let the guy shoot her..."
"Don't say that," Cam cuts him off. "Just don't." But we're all thinking the same thing, whether or not we want to say it. He saved her life, and he damned ours. As president, he could have put a permanent end to the persecution of wolves by the NHA and other so-called conservation groups. He could have renewed treaties and created campaigns to offer labor protection. I wonder if President Davis knows this, if she knows exactly what he sacrificed in order to protect her. I think she does—and I think that's why she's looking at him like that in the picture. Like she's saying you idiot, do you know what you've done?
Cam leans back with a sigh and rests his head in my lap, and I absentmindedly tug his hat off to brush his hair away from his forehead. He looks up at me and smiles, and it lessens some of the dread that's been building in me since this morning. No more freak accidents, no more dangerous strangers. We need each other more than ever now, and I don't want to worry so much, or argue with him. I don't want him to be distracted at work thinking of me getting harassed at my job. And the thing I don't know how to describe to him is that I don't think Paul wanted anything from me more than just to talk. But I think whatever words he would have spoken would have been dangerous. And right now, all I want is for us to be as far away from dangerous things as we can manage.