Mrs. Boxer giggled like a schoolgirl before following Nana out. Neither said goodbye.
That was the strangest interaction I'd had with one of the Walkers, and considering the interactions I'd had already, that was saying something.
I spotted movement outside the shop windows and smiled, expecting to see Nana and Mrs. Boxer walking that way from the exit. It was Charles from the station, though. He caught me smiling and waved. I waved back but stood before he decided to come in too.
It didn't take me very long to pack my things. I hadn't gotten a lick of work done, but I didn't think I could. Not with how weird Chuck was being and how cryptic Nash's great-grandmother had been. Maybe I could help Nash and Wyatt. I waved to the barista, grabbing my tech before heading out.
There was a traffic jam outside the coffee shop. In Walkerton, that meant more than one car was driving by. I hung back, letting the street clear before I jaywalked. As I waited, staring at the Greasy Stump sign, I heard the couple behind me whisper between each other.
"He smells like him," the man said.
"Let's just go, John."
"Absolutely not."
There was a tap on my shoulder next. The last car had driven by, and I was clear to cross, but I turned instead, coming face to face with a man who was undoubtedly related to Nash and Wyatt. He looked like half of them both. Mixed with the woman at his side, I was confident in assuming these were his parents.
The bad Walkers.
First his great-grandma, now his parents? Was there a convention in town? Though, replaying their whispered conversation now that I had an idea who they were, led me to assume that perhaps they were here for their son specifically.
"Do you know Nash Walker?" the man asked.
I looked from him to the woman. She folded her hands in front of her, flicking her hair over her shoulders in a repetitive, nervous pattern.
It wasn't like I was going to lie. "I do. He's my friend."
The man leaned in and sniffed, his mouth turning up in a smile that was overly familiar. "Friend. Got it."
"I'm sorry, can I help you?"
"You can. Convince my sons to come home. There's a ceremony coming up that I'd like them both to be there for."
"What sort of ceremony?"
"John, you can't," the woman whispered.
"A personal family matter," John said, waving away my suspicion.
"Then you should ask Nash yourself." I turned back around, checked the street for cars, and began to cross.
John Walker moved like lightning to the space in front of me, blocking my way. "I'll pay you," he said, his eyes scanning up and down my body like he was judging me and found me lacking. "Any amount you want, name it."
I wasn't sure if I was angrier at the proof of how horrible a parent this man was or that he assumed money would get me to turn on Nash. Both made me equally mad, and I showed that anger by calmly stepping around him.
John grabbed my wrist, holding me back as he squeezed just enough so that I knew he could seriously hurt me if he wanted.
"Let go."
His fingers tightened.
His wife tugged at his arm before something on the other side of the street made her eyes bulge.
There was a loud shout, more like an animal's roar, and then John let go of my hand on his way down to the asphalt. Blood shot out from his nose while Nash pulled me behind him. "Don't touch him," he snarled.
"Nash, it's okay." I didn't like the rage that shook his voice.
He'd hit his father without a second thought. The man was still on the ground, but Nash just stared like he was trash waiting to be collected. "It isn't," Nash growled.
He turned back to me at the exact same moment I rubbed my wrist. It didn't hurt, not badly, but Nash spotted the motion, and his eyes narrowed. He growled in a way I'd never heard before. "Did he hurt you?" His words were brittle and shattered on the ground between us.
I shook my head. "No, it isn't broken or anything, just a little red. Nash—"
"He hurt you," Nash said, sounding so calm that when he turned on his father, punching him over and over—for a split second—I thought it was a joke.
I shouted for him to stop. His mother did too, but as the seconds ticked by at a snail's pace, Nash's snarls took on a more animalistic tone. I wasn't sure if Nash was even on the sidewalk with us anymore. I felt like I was only with the wolf.
And I had no idea how to get him to stop.
Chapter Fifteen
Nash
Nash had left the building. I knew that I need to stop, that if I didn't, my father would die. And yet my thoughts were not my own. They weren't even human. Raw, primal rage had a vice around my head. This shifter had harmed what was mine. My mate.
My mate's body had been altered at his hands.
That the shifter was my father drove my wolf to the brink of insanity.
"Please, Nash, please!" That was my sweet Phineas.
I can't. I don't want to. Now that I had my father under my fists, all the hurt, pain, and rage gathered in my fingers. With each strike, my knuckles stamped it all into his skin.
"Brother!" That voice was as familiar as my own. "Nash, man, he isn't worth this. You'll lose everything! Your job, your mate, everything!"
Lose everything? How can something that feels so good put me at so much risk?
"Dammit, you stubborn dick!" I heard something I almost never did from Wyatt, the deep resonating tone of an alpha. My wolf knew it wasn't a challenge and didn't respond aggressively, but in the moment it took to recognize the twin beast in my brother, I was able to regain some clarity. My fists paused, and Wyatt pulled me back, pinning my arms loosely at my sides.
My mother dropped to his side as my father groaned and clutched his battered face.
Phineas looked at me with horror before stepping toward my father, hands outstretched like he was going to heal him.
"Don't," I growled, issuing the only actual order I'd ever spoken to him. "Don't fucking touch him."
I couldn't see into his eyes. He looked to my father, giving me his profile. "You don't mean that."
"Whatever pain I've given him, he deserves."
The smart thing would've been to stop talking, to say I lost my temper and that I was sorry. But I wouldn't lie to Phin, even if this drove him away. I'd lost my temper, that was true, but I wasn't sorry. I didn't regret it. I'd wanted to punch that fucker in the face ever since he woke me up and told me to get dressed.
Sirens wailed. Someone had called the cops. It had been a while since I'd had the chance to relax in one of Sheriff Maslow's fine rooms. This would be the first time it was for anything substantial. Before, I'd been a young punk, fresh out of the pack and looking to get disorderly.
"Come on, we'll go back to the bar. Let them come there." Wyatt tugged me back across the street.
My feet sunk into the cement, and I looked to Phin. I wouldn't order him to follow like a dog. But if he tried to stay, I didn't know what I would do. Or even if I could leave him here on the sidewalk with my parents. He'd never been in greater danger than he was standing so near to them.
It was my brother who recognized the problem and let me go, heading back to Phin's side. "This is scary, I get you, Phinster. But try to take what you know already of Nash and what you know of them and make your decision off of that. Don't get me wrong—Nash is going to have to apologize up and down to gain your trust back, but don't make him choose your safety over his own. He'll choose you every time."